30 Day Challenge
by accio-feels
Summary: As a celebration of Sherlock season 4, each day of January brought a new prompt as well as a one-shot for the 30 Day OTP Challenge. The OTP in this case is Sherlolly (Sherlock and Molly). Enjoy!
1. Content

**Hey!**

**Here is the complete list of the prompts for the challenge and is adapted from khorazir.**** tumblr.**** com /post/39302697479/30-day-otp-challenge. I can't post links but that's the closest I can do.**

* * *

**1**. Dreaming

**2**. Holding Hands

**3**. Cuddling

**4**. Gaming/Watching a Movie

**5**. On a date

**6**. Kissing

**7**. Wearing Each Other's Clothes

**8**. Shopping

**9**. Hanging Out With Friends

**10**. Animal Ears _(includes extra prompt: '**pet names**')_

**11**. Wearing Onesies

**12**. Make Up

**13**. Eating Ice-Cream

**14**. Gender Swapped

**15**. In a Different Clothing Style

**16**. During Their Morning Rituals

**17**. Spooning

**18.** Doing Something Together

**19.** In Formal Wear

**20.** Dancing _(includes extra prompt: '**4:14am**')_

**21.** Cooking/Baking

**22.** In Battle, Side-By-Side

**23.** Arguing

**24.** Making up

**25**. Gazing into Each Other's Eyes

**26.** Getting Married

**27**. On One of Their Birthdays

**28**. Something Ridiculous

**29**. Doing Something Sweet

**30.** Doing Something Hot


	2. Day 1: Dreaming

_Sherlock stood on the opposite side of the street to the restaurant that Molly and her boyfriend sat in. Molly was having pasta and Dave (?) had fish. She looked up at him and beamed before he began to talk to her. Her face dropped as he stood up and Sherlock shifted, irritated that something was happening and Molly appeared upset. A false deduction, Dave sank to one knee, bringing attention to him from all over the restaurant. When the couple stood and kissed, Sherlock groaned before walking back to Baker Street._

_~oOo~_

_John opened the door for him, Sherlock realising his friend had been waiting for him._

_"I told you to shave the damn thing off," Sherlock grumbled before hopping up the stairs._

_With a huff, John replied with "Mary likes it…" before shaking his head and closing the door behind the detective. He followed Sherlock up the stairs and attempted to talk to him._

_"Sod off," Sherlock snarled before slamming the door closed._

_"Molly just rang, she's got some great news. Do you want to know what it is?" John tried to ask through the closed door._

_"She got engaged. Congratulations to her, the day no-one actually expected managed to come, despite her small breasts and lips," Sherlock called out before slamming his personal bathroom door closed, blocking Johns question of "how on earth did you know?"_

_In the bathroom, Sherlock sat on the edge of the bathtub, his eyes glued on the tiles. A frown tugged on his lips as he saw a drop of water hit the ground. He brushed his spidery fingers along his eyelid to realise it had fallen out of his eye. Was he crying?! The idea seemed absurd to him… but the evidence was there. Anderson could have figured it out!_

_That's when it sank for Sherlock for the first time. It was no longer premonitions. He loved Molly Hooper, but Molly Hooper did not love him. Molly Hooper loved Dave… or whatever the hell that man's name was._

_~oOo~_

_The year that Dave and Molly were engaged was a bad year for Sherlock. He almost threw two cases, both a six, and whenever he saw Molly, usually at the morgue, he was insulting her choice in men and throwing down some insults about the individual in question. Molly, who had absolutely enough of Sherlock and his madness, threatened to have a restraining order placed against him._

_When the letter arrived for John, Sherlock was hurt, yet he understood well enough why he had not been invited to the wedding. The man, David Flynn, had sent an email on Molly's behalf, asking politely for John's plus one to NOT be Sherlock under any circumstance._

_Sherlock blamed Molly the lack of contact for four years. John and his girlfriends, Mary, Wendy, Laura and Claire had tried to have dinner with Dave, Molly and Sherlock in the year they dated John. The restraining order threat came to mind every time Molly's name was mentioned and, with a grumble, he continued to decline._

_There was one thing Sherlock would not admit to or tell anyone about, his love for Molly. Once he had recognised it, it grew… a lot. One dinner, just one, he had agreed. And the five of them went to dinner._

'Plot twist', _Sherlock thought when Molly and Dave arrived. _'She had a baby. So, the unfortunate inevitable happened and she reproduced with that man.'

_John sat by… Sandra… he assumed, who sat by Molly, the baby, and Dave and finally, Sherlock was wedged between his best friend and his new mortal nemesis, Molly's husband. Molly herself was displeased to see Sherlock. She had greeted him as though she was cat poo and she spoke to him as much as she spoke to the dead bodies in the morgue, not at all._

_The demon spawn was screaming for almost the entire time, annoying everyone in the restaurant. Then, the whispers started. They were only at the surrounding tables but it spread, the same word over and over, Sherlock._

_"Sherlock!" someone called out, the five adults at the table turned to see the owner of the voice stand and hold a shiny object out, pointing at Sherlock._

_Molly, who sat opposite him, stood up, blocking the man's line of fire. Her new presence there didn't stop the shiny object, the gun, from going __**BANG!**__ The noise ended with the mother and wife falling to the ground, clutching at her torso._

_John sprung up and rushed over to her and yelled orders at the stunned adults that stood around, hoping someone would call for an ambulance while he tended to her. Sherlock needed a shock blanket at that moment. His stillness was not an enjoyable experience and when the minutes ticked by, he jumped to action, running over to the woman who stood up to save his life._

_"Molly," he whispered, tears forming in his eyes as he bent down to the woman._

_"Sherlock, I- I think it's too late," John whispered._

_Sherlock knew he was right, she was colder now and her eyes had hazed over._

"Molly!" Sherlock screamed as he awoke from his dream, his alarm clock going wild.

John burst into the room, a scowl on his face as he stalked towards the alarm clock.

"Wake up on "time", you prat! You woke me up and I've got a bloody headache!" he spat out before stalking away again.

Sherlock jumped out of bed and changed to his usual clothes, skipping breakfast and forgetting his shoes. He ran to the apartment of Molly Hooper, not Molly insert-Dave's-last-name-here 's. He prayed as he ran to the apartment that it was a dream, that there was no demon spawn in her house and the so called "Dave" was not there either.

He pounded on the door, yelling her name at 8:30am.

With no reply, he ran from the apartments and to Bart's, needing to see Molly NOW! He skidded around the corner and into the morgue, bursting in the door, yelling Molly's name.

She looked up at him, her eyes full of alarm as the consulting detective ran into her morgue.

"Sherlock! Whatever is the matter?!" She asked walking towards him, fear sketched on her face. He grabbed her hand and looked at it, noticing the lack of golden band. "Why are you barefooted?"

He sighed in relief and pulled her into an embrace. "Molly, my gorgeous pathologist! Thank goodness you're ok. Thank goodness it was a terrible, TERRIBLE dream!" he exclaimed and pulled away from her and looking into her eyes. Her eyes clouded in confusion and he chuckled before capturing her lips with his. "Thank goodness!" he whispered once pulling away and pulling her back into a hug. "Thank goodness!" he repeated once more.

Molly, on the other hand, couldn't believe that Sherlock had burst into the room screaming her name with no shoes on, hugged her, snogged her and hugged her again…

"What happened?" she asked, hoping to clear her confusion.

"Molly, I had the most terrible dream that you married this bloke, Dave I think, and I hated him and you wanted to out a restraining order against me and we didn't talk for four years and then we went to dinner with John and some girl and you had a demonic spawn with this Dave and then people recognised me and tried to shoot me but you got in the way," he explained, slowly calming down as he spoke. "It seems so ridiculous now; I would never leave this morgue, even if you DID try a restraining order. I need my lab and I need my pathologist," he continued with a chuckle and kissed her cheek.

"Uh… and you're here barefoot… why?"

"I jumped up, changed, and ran to your apartment to get no response so I came here instead. And thank goodness I found you," he sighed, squeezing her tighter to his chest. "Are you busy for dinner tonight? Or can I get a date with you?"

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys!**

**Hope you enjoyed! Tomorrow's story is 'Holding Hands'.**


	3. Day 2: Holding Hands

The first time Sherlock Holmes had held someone's hand other than Mycroft's or Mummy's was when Toby, Molly Hooper's cat, died. He had been hit by a car and, from Molly's guess, left for dead by the side of the road. It was quite a sight for Molly when she had arrived home that night on the bus to see a dead cat. Her eyes had welled with tears and she picked him up, ignoring the flies and the stench he had left. He had been out all day, she supposed, and he smelt terrible. The first thing she did when she got home was find a towel to wrap her cat up in.

She had put him in a shoe box and washed her hands before grabbing a few bottles of wine and a glass. After setting them on the table, she grabbed the shoe box and walked to 221B Baker Street.

"Molly! What a surprise! And- oh! What do you have there? Are you ok?" Mrs Hudson bubbled and Molly shook her head, her tears about to become full on sobs.

"M-my cat, Toby, he-" she cut her self off with a sob and a door upstairs was thrown open, feet racing down the stairs.

"It's alright, Mrs Hudson, I'll take her from here," the voice of Sherlock Holmes reassured the two women, but just a bit.

"S-sherlock, we have to bury him," she whispered and looked up at him, her vision blurred.

"I agree, he's starting to stink up the place. And it's only respectful to him," he replied and ran up the stairs again.

Molly heard John yell out "Sherlock? What's going on? Is it another drugs bust? Tell Lestrade it's getting old!"

"It's Toby. Hit and run, I imagine," he called out before grabbing something and running back down to Molly. "Let's go, I called a cab," he told her and guided her outside.

A few minutes later, the cab arrived with a not so pleased cabbie who saw (and smelt) the box containing Toby. Sherlock had quickly reassured him and, to the cabbie's contentment, sprayed an air freshener as they left.

Sherlock walked around an old cemetery with Molly until they found a spot in the garden with dead plants. With a shovel that Sherlock claimed he had the whole time, he dug up a deep hole while Molly sat beside the box, Sherlock's coat, and his scarf. His sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows and he dug furiously before stopping.

"Alright, Doctor Molly Hooper, it's time to bury the body," he told her and she nodded while standing up and placing the box inside the hole.

He filled the hole and pressed some seeds into the soil. Molly wondered what EXACTLY he brought with him that night. His hand slipped into hers and he squeezed it slightly. She looked up to him to see a small smile on his lips and his eyes filled with sadness.

"Thank you, Sherlock. Thank you so much," she whispered and he wrapped an arm around her waist.

"We are gathered here today to celebrate the life of a beautiful cat, Toby. He was the best of cats, he was the worst of cats, he was a cat of wisdom, he was the cat of foolishness, he was a cat of belief, he was a cat of incredulity, he lived in the season of Light, he lived in the season of Darkness, he was the spring of hope, he was the winter of despair, we have everything before us, we have nothing before us-"

"Thank you, Sherlock," Molly whispered and wrapped an arm around his hips. "Thank you Toby. You were my shoulder to cry on, you were my rock at times. You really were my everything and, here we are, all too soon. I hope you enjoy cat heaven and you chase all those mice there as well. I love you, so much my Toby," she concluded, looking down at the fresh grave.

She looked up at Sherlock and nodded. He let go of her and grabbed his scarf and jacket before taking her hand.

"I'll take you home," he told her and she smiled up at him.

"Thank you, Sherlock."

After they finally managed to get a cab back to Molly's place, Sherlock stayed to watch over her drinking and let her watch 'Glee' with him in the room.

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys!**

**Once again, I hope you enjoyed that! accio feels, hey!**

**Anywho, tomorrow's story is 'cuddling'! Ooh!**


	4. Day 3: Cuddling

John Watson had suspected for a good few weeks that perhaps there was something between Molly and Sherlock that neither discussed. When he walked in on them cuddled up together and sleeping, he had no doubt in his mind that there was indeed something.

Twelve hours before that, however, Molly was in her flat, getting ready for work when there was a knock on the door. Confusion crawled onto her face as she walked over to the door, unsure of who would visit her so early in the morning.

"Sherlock! What a surprise!" she said as she opened the door.

"Molly. Two words: rodent infestation," he told her and walked around her. "Yes. I can see rather clearly. The landlady was talking to a tenant downstairs that there have been rodents spotted VERY frequently. I see that yes, it's here."

"And why were you here in the first place?" she asked while closing the door and looking at the man who had started to examine her flat.

"Case," he sighed out, continuing his work.

"Oh."

"I'll call someone to pop by while you're out. You'll have to stay elsewhere for a few days though…"

Molly sighed as Sherlock crawled along the ground, looking under her limited furniture.

"I-I'll ask Mary or-"

"Mary's visiting her mother. She's out of town," he told her before clarifying with "John."

"Oh. Well… I'm afraid that won't be convenient. Where can I get a hotel that'll accept Toby?" she wondered aloud.

Sherlock sighed. "Isn't it obvious? You stay at 221B with John and I."

"Oh," she replied, feeling rather silly. "Do you have the room?"

He sighed and shook his head as he stood up. "Molly, do you really have to be so daft? Of course there's room."

"Oh," she replied again. "I suppose I could stay there…"

"Alright. Pack and pop by 221B before work. Mrs Hudson will watch your bags for you. I'll be at the morgue. You need to bring some plates. You'll see why." Sherlock looked around once more before scrunching his nose up. "I'll call a company on the way to the morgue," he concluded and walked out, leaving Molly standing there confused.

~oOo~

Sherlock sent a text to Molly as she walked into the morgue, telling her an eight came up and he didn't have time. Of course, Molly was confused. VERY confused. Nonetheless, she went along with his crazy schemes. After her shift, she went to 221B, a little worried as to what would happen.

"Sherlock! Molly's here!" Mrs Hudson called out.

"Send her up!" Sherlock called back impatiently.

Mrs Hudson rolled her eyes, smiling at Molly. "I suppose you ought to go up, then."

Molly nodded and sent a kind smile to the woman before walking up the stairs. "Meow," she said, listening for her cat who she hoped wasn't cooped up in his cage.

"Molly. What the devil are you doing?" Sherlock asked, slouched over a couch.

"I could ask you the same. You left for an eight?"

"No, I _thought_ it was an eight. Lestrade led me astray. Apparently, it's his birthday and he tried to get me to come to the police party. All he had was a six. Now, I'm bored," he grumbled out and his head lolled back.

"Let me call Greg, I'll be in the kitchen and I'll make you a tea," she told him and walked away.

John arrived back after dinner with Mary and had brought some Chinese for Sherlock.

"Sherlock, I- oh, Molly, what a surprise! Uh, why are you here?" Sherlock rolled his eyes at his doctor's words.

"Rats. Obviously, Toby is a bad cat." Sherlock looked over at Molly to see her rolling her eyes.

"Speaking of which, where is he?"

~oOo~

After insisting Molly slept in his bed, Sherlock lay in the lounge room, feeling very uncomfortable.

"Forget this. It's my bed, I'll be damned if I can't sleep in it," he groaned and stood up, dumping the blanket on the lounge.

He waddled over to his room and slowly opened the door, hoping not to wake Molly. The door creaked slightly as he closed it and his head shot over to look at Molly. She stirred a little but stayed asleep. He crawled into bed, watching Molly as he did so.

She began to wake up and Sherlock froze.

"S-sherlock?" she whispered to the curly haired man. "What are you doing?"

"I was uncomfortable. Go back to sleep," he whispered back, getting into the sheets.

"B-"

"Molly," Sherlock whispered as he leaned towards her, his lips resting on her ear. "Go back to sleep."

He moved away again and moved around until he was comfortable. Molly, on the other hand, remained awake, watching in mild horror as Sherlock got comfortable by her side.

"Sherlock," Molly started and he opened an eye to look over at her.

"Molly," he mocked and slithered closer towards her. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest, her face pressed against his chest. "Go to sleep."

He began to stroke her hair and she slowly began to doze off, her arms wrapping around him.

~oOo~

John had crept into Sherlock's room, baffled by his absence from the lounge. The sight he was greeted with was extremely odd. Molly and Sherlock were intertwined, slight smiles on their faces, Molly's head on his chest and Sherlock's head placed on hers. John smirked at the sight and took a picture before creeping out, letting them wake up in their own time.

~oOo~

Molly had left for work and Sherlock sat with his eggs Benedict on the table, John eating toast opposite him.

"Are we going to talk about what I saw this morning in your bed?" John broke the silence and Sherlock frowned.

"Don't call Molly a 'what'."

"Sherlock, you two were… cuddling," John rebutted, irritated with his detective.

"No, we fell asleep as I was trying to make her sleep and we just happened to stay in such a position," he justified.

"You were both in the same bed. You were going to sleep on the lounge."

Scoffing, Sherlock shook his head. "It's not comfortable there, John. And besides, Molly didn't mind."

After a small silence, involving Sherlock eating his eggs and Toby rubbing up against John's legs, the latter frowned.

"There aren't any rats in her apartment, are there? Toby is a competent cat who has caught a spider since he got here yesterday. He'd have caught a rat."

"Shut up."

John's jaw dropped. "You WHAT?! How could you DO that to her?!"

"Do WHAT, John? I told her there were rats in her house and she's living here for a few days, I don't see a problem. There were signs, afterall."

"Why with us? Why not Mary?"

"You told me she was away to visit her mother."

"That was three months ago! We went on a date last night!"

"Details, John, details!"

"Details are your thing… does she know?"

"Know what?"

"That you basically kidnapped her."

"I didn't kidnap her," he chuckled. "She came here of her own free will."

"I'm going to tell her."

"Don't you dare."

John smirked as Sherlock finished his eggs in anger and John took his merry time with his toast.

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys!**

**Sherlock, you naughty thing you! I hope you enjoyed, I had a smile on as I wrote this!**

**Tomorrow is 'gaming/watching a movie'! May contain traces of an Italian plumber!**


	5. Day 4: Gaming or Watching a Movie

'Twas the day after Christmas and John gave his roommate a Wii. John was busy working and for Sherlock, Molly was free.

Sherlock was sitting in his armchair, pouring over a small manual. A timid knock on the door did not break him from his trance, not even when a mousy voice called out his name.

Molly walked towards the armchair beside Sherlock and sank down by her friend who, without a single word or a glance, passed her a Wii remote.

"John gave me a console and _Mario Kart_. Apparently, I'm a "sore loser". I think he's dillusional. Anyway, I've been studying the manual to get the gist of what to do so here you go," Sherlock said, looking up and away from the manual towards his female companion.

"Oh, I know how to play. Mary and I play occasionally." Sherlock groaned at her words before starting the game setup.

"I'm Mario," he told her before pressing the button to claim his character.

"Well, I'm ALWAYS Peach," Molly told him as she too claimed the character.

"I don't know these vehicles," Sherlock mumbled to himself and Molly smiled.

"I always choose the Mach bike. Do you have a nunchuck?"

"Yes, however I don't see an advantage in it at all," he told her and she sighed.

"It's how I play, ok? Hand me a nunchuck, if you'd be so kind," she rolled her eyes at the consulting detective.

A few grumbles later and a rock paper scissors to what team to choose occurred. Molly, wanting to play for red, lost

"You cheated, you deduced what I'd do. It's not fair," Molly had teased.

Sherlock had chuckled at this accusation before starting the game.

"3, 2, 1, GO!" Molly cheered and got sucked into the race, her eyes set on the next bend, glued to the competitors, watching for the boxes.

"How am I losing?! He was behind me two seconds ago!" Sherlock whined causing Molly to laugh.

You're going so slow! I can see you and I'm catching up!"

"That's not a bad thing, Molly."

"I'm coming first!" she laughed as he squirmed in his seat.

As the first lap came to an end for Sherlock, he stood up and paused it before throwing the remote across the room.

"This is a ridiculous game!" he shouted before stalking into his room, slamming the door behind him, leaving Molly shocked as well.

She opened the door and walked over to the sulking detective who was huddled on the bed, facing the other way and on his side.

"Come on, Sherlock. I'll show you how to play properly. Or, we could play a different game. I'll look at the games you have and we can play one of those, alright?" With a large, heavy sigh, Sherlock stood up and walked to the lounge room with Molly. "We can always watch a movie instead, if you'd like?"

"We'll play this," he grumbled and tapped a random case.

"T-that's the racing game."

"Well for Godsake, Molly, are you going to choose a game or are you going to sit there like an idiot?!" Sherlock boomed and fell into his armchair, his arms crossed and his face full of irritation.

"I-I think I'll head on home. I believe Toby needs to be fed soon…" Molly trailed off as she walked towards the enterance of the flat, grabbing her handbag and jacket. "Bye, Sherlock."

And with that, she walked out of 221B.

"Molly, I'm sorry. I haven't been overly considerate. I know this is your day off, very kind of you. I- Molly?" He looked up to find the woman, his pathologist. Instead, he was met with silence and an empty flat.

Sighing, Sherlock walked back to his room and made himself decent before grabbing the Wii, the racing game, the remotes and the cords required. After putting them in a large bag, he grabbed a cab over to Molly's place. He got out a few blocks away, however, and invested in flowers, knowing it would probably sweeten the deal and she'd let him into the flat.

Molly had walked into her flat feeling the way she usually felt after being around Sherlock alone, annoyed and sad.

"Toby!" she called out, receiving silence in return, not even a small meow greeted her. Disappointment filled her as she realised she was truly alone.

A few minutes after she had reached for a bottle of wine, there was a knock on the door. With a sigh, Molly went to answer, confident she knew who it was.

"Sherlock, it's fine," she reassured him as she opened the door.

"I still feel bad. On your day off, you stay with me and I am rude to you and inconsiderate of the fact that you indeed do have a life. So, I bought you some flowers," he handed out a bouquet of red roses, "and that console, remotes and that racing game. I was hoping you could help me out."

"Firstly, thank you, Sherlock. Secondly, red roses are usually regarded as the romantic flowers and finally, I'd be more than happy to help."

When Sherlock got home six hours later, he was confident he'd beat John, so confident, he kissed Molly's cheek as he left the building.

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys!**

**Tomorrow's prompt is 'date'!**

**First of all, a big thank you to everyone who has reviewed! I really enjoy getting reviews. Thank you to SammyKatz for her concern for spoilers :) Another big thank you to the funny comment by Lanceletta. Also, thank you to YouPeopleAreSoPettyAndTiny who is new to Sherlolly (or Sholly as I prefer to call them) a welcome to you as well :)**

**Now, in regards to this chapter, I was a little worried. I had originally found the 30 day OTP challenge from another account. They did 'The Sound of Music' and I thought it was absolutely brilliant. When I got to this chapter, I had no idea how I was going to do this. I think because Sherlock can't deduce from the characters on the screen, he couldn't determine what they'd do and as such, he wasn't necessarily going to do well. Also, practice makes perfect for Mario Kart. I don't think, however, that I captured Sherlocks personality. I'm very UNconfident that I would probably not kiss Molly's cheek.**

**But, I'm not entirely sure it's what I think that counts, please review with your opinion on this chapter, any review is a great review!**

**And to finish this chapter off, I'd like to remind/inform everyone that I live in Australia and Channel Nine haven't given us a date as to when I can expect Sherlock season 3. This means I will not have ANY spoilers for anyone and all characters are based off season 1 and 2, something I think those who have the inability to watch Sherlock will appreciate.**

**Ok, that's all today. Thank you very much for the kind reviews I've received so far!**


	6. Day 5: Date

At exactly 12:34pm on the 3rd of August, Sherlock Holmes had arrived at the morgue with a frown on his face and a rose in his hand. His coat billowed behind him as he stalked into Molly's space.

"Here," he said and thrust the rose towards her. Once she took it, he stalked away, almost as mysterious as he had come.

A smile started to slip onto her face as she realised there was a note attached to the rose.

_Tonight, 7pm, dress formal, I'll pick you up from your place X_

_-SH_

Molly's stomach erupted in butterflies as she realised what had happened, Sherlock Holmes had asked her out on a date! Her mind was on that for the rest of the shift.

She wondered where they were going, what she should wear, how she should do her hair and makeup- everything rushed through her mind, demanding attention as it went.

~oOo~

John frowned as he sank into the chair opposite Sherlock who had his hands resting flat on the table.

"So, for a case, you need to go to a fancy restaurant and you've invited Molly. Does she know it's not a real date?"

"No, John, obviously not. And don't tell her, I need to keep the ruse up the entire night."

"You have had your low points, Sherlock, but THIS… well this really takes the cake!"

"What? What have I done? Molly's getting a free meal, I get to watch the going on of the most wanted criminal in London as of the moment, and Molly gets to think that we're going on a date! It's a win all round!"

"Sherlock. Where can I begin to express how wrong this is? First of all, she knows you don't eat on a case, so how are you going to fool her? Second, you can't watch the most wanted criminals, you have to watch her. Thirdly, why couldn't I go instead? I know what's going on. And finally, Molly will probably tell her friends that she's going on a date with the famous Sherlock Holmes, and she'll probably put it on her blog. You'll have to take her on another date or tell her it was not a date so the entire ruse is foiled."

"I couldn't take you, Mrs Hudson is already under the impression we're a thing. I can't NOT eat and say I'm watching you, now can I? That just FUELS the fire," he justified. "And who knows, if Molly doesn't blow it, I'll take her on another date, or some rubbish like that.

"This- God, THIS is unbelievable. YOU are unbelievable. You can't do that to Molly. You just can't."

"I don't see what ordeal I'm apparently putting her through. I think you need to just calm down and let me handle my business."

John stood at this point, and ran his fingers through his hair.

"You know what? Fine. Just fine. You go hurt Molly and watch when the next time you need her, she doesn't let you into the morgue or lab."

Sherlock looked at John exasperated. "Seriously? That's how you end this? With a threat? And a weak one at that. I'm disappointed, John."

John shook his head at his so called "adult friend" and walked out if 221B.

~oOo~

The dress Molly wore wasn't sitting right, to her displeasure, and so she changed to a blue, a red and a black one before giving up.

_Sorry, I don't think I have anything to wear that'll be appropriate. I don't think I can go to dinner tonight :( -Molly_

She continued to hold up dresses, knowing Sherlock wouldn't take no for an answer.

_I'll be there at seven. Find _something_ to wear. Just dress formal –SH._

_Molly, I think Sherlock is on a case and tonight he's watching some criminals. All I can say is be careful. –JW._

Molly frowned and pushed her phone away, deciding to play along with Sherlock's scam and ask him about it at dinner. She settled on the blue dress that clung to her abdominal. Molly felt most comfortable in it and, with the selection of this dress, she could do her makeup and hair, an hour before she was supposed to have dinner with Sherlock Holmes.

~oOo~

At ten past seven, Molly and Sherlock were on their way to dinner, silence surrounding the two. Molly was both too nervous and too worried whilst Sherlock was just being a dick as usual.

"Mycroft organised this for us. Normally you can't get a reservation so soon. I called up this morning and they said there was a six month line. Mycroft worked his magic for us. He is the British government after all," Sherlock attempted at small talk, Molly only nodding in recognition.

He huffed in irritation at her lack of interest, something he always at least forced to pretend.

At the restaurant, Molly still remained rather quite, to Sherlocks displeasure. Of course, because he's Sherlock, an idea welled inside him.

"John talked to you, didn't he?"

Molly pursed her lips and looked up at her "date". "Well, he texted me. I thought silence would help you watch the criminals more easily."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and gave Molly that "are you really that oblivious?" look that he often gave to Lestrade or Anderson or Donovan.

"I'm not just going to outright tell John I want to go on a date with you. I'm not stupid. He'd make a big deal over something so small.

"And then he'd tell Mrs Hudson who would give us an odd, shocked expression because I think she's under the impression we're a couple… and John will tell Mary and so on and so forth and then mother will demand she meets you and- Molly, I'm not just going to tell John that I fancy you.

"There isn't a case, I've planted false clues for him and paid Lestrade to play along. There are some criminals in this restaurant right now but they're here for pleasure, not business. It'd be rude to get them now, especially while I'm on a date. Shame on you, Molly Hooper," he teased, a small smile sliding onto his face.

Her face began to heat up and she ducked her head, a full blown grin on her face.

At exactly 7:35pm, Molly's date with Sherlock officially began with the two of them actually talking and laughing.

* * *

**A/N: Hey everyone!**

**Tomorrow's prompt is 'kissing'! Are you as excited as I am?!**

**I have to apologies to all of you. Gmail was putting all my emails from this site into my spam and I just found out this morning before work. I had no idea that people were following me, the story or favoriting the story! I'm so sorry that I didn't know, I feel really bad :(**

**Thank you to everyone who has favourited the story, followed it or followed me, I really appreciate it, especially because I'm new around here. I also really appreciate all the reviews I've had. I don't think I've had as much success as quickly with a fan fiction before and I really love it!**

**Once again, I am so sorry but thank you so much! It was an absolute shock to find so many emails in my spam folder that shouldn't have been there. I was absolutely shocked to see that so many people like this story(s)!**

**It's only day 5 today and there are still 25 more days left but I am itching to write more and more and just upload them today! If you have any suggestions for some upcoming days (such as the gender swap D:) please tell me because I'd love to hear your ideas, especially when I don't have very many myself.**

**I love you guys, stay awesome! xx**


	7. Day 6: Kissing

**A/N: Hey guys!**

**Getting in early (it's 1:19am) because I just really wanna post it!**

**Todays challenge is 'kissing', a topic I was rather worried about being a 17 year old asexual who's never been kissed; also the reason why I removed 'making out' from the challenge list. Anyway, I've given it my best shot.**

**I've seen the first 56 minutes of season 3 and was entirely shocked by the whole thing... especially Anderson's theory. Now, I was going to put a bit into this chapter but I decided against it seeing as I had only seen 56 minutes and I know not everyone has seen season 3 yet. (Australian tv sucks, tbh)**

**Enjoy! x**

* * *

Molly Hooper had been kissed by Sherlock Holmes three times and yet, none were a proper kiss.

One: that awful Christmas party that ended with her in her apartment curled up next to Toby, a box of tissues and a bottle of wine.

Two: one case when she pointed out something he hadn't seen that was rather obvious yet no-one was addressing. "Molly Hooper, you are a GENIUS!" he had cheered before picking her up and snogging her, a fast yet heart stopping kiss.

Three: the end of an investigation in which he had made a dreadful mess that covered the lab in what Molly hoped was just smelly red goop, a mystery she still hasn't solved as neither Sherlock nor John would tell her what on this ungodly planet that disgusting stench and thing was!

But this kiss? THIS kiss was so much different. Mrs Hudson had invited Molly over for dinner to celebrate her birthday. Molly made a cake and most of the dinner. Mrs Hudson, however, would NOT just sit down and let Molly make dinner. She had to get in despite Molly's attempts at forcing the woman to sit down and enjoy some tea. Sherlock and John had arrived at five and sat down with Mrs Hudson while Molly put a roast in the oven.

Sherlock apparently wasn't overly pleased that Molly wasn't at the morgue, seeing as he needed access and everyone else that worked there were incompetent. In the end, Sherlock had been removed by security for insulting and mistreating the staff. If you asked John why they were removed, he would say that, as usual, Sherlock was being an arse to everyone. The difference is Molly has been too meek to say anything against Sherlock and, as such, he continues to walk all over her. The others are doing their jobs and not allowing Sherlock entrance.

Mrs Hudson's smile quickly became a frown when Sherlock had walked in, a bit of blood on his face. He was in a mood and John looked annoyed with his friend.

"Sherlock! What have you done?" she asked as she went for the medical kit, despite Sherlock and John's protests.

"_I _didn't do anything. I was "escorted" out of Bart's because Molly wasn't working and the incompetent swines who _were _working said I was… what was the words, John?"

"He was being an arse so they called security and we got kicked out. It took Lestrade to get us back in and Sherlock was told not to talk to the staff which proved irritating when he demanded the autopsy reports because he barked at me and not the staff, even though_ I _couldn't actually do anything about it. And when we got outside-"

"He punched me."

"I got worse, I cut my fist on your cheekbones," John grumbled while sitting down and smiling a small, bleak smile at Molly.

"Molly, why weren't you at work?" Sherlock suddenly started an accusation, Molly's cheeks flushing in the process.

"I was out, shopping. I got Mrs Hudson a birthday present and some ingredients for dinner. I was offered a day off and I took it," she replied before fixing them all some tea and sitting down.

"Good on you, Molly. You don't need to be cooped up all day at Barts. And the dead aren't particularly good company either."

"Well, they certainly are better than some."

Sherlock shot her an odd look but Mrs Hudson stopped him, telling him not to move his face.

With a huff, he responded to her with a "I'm FINE, Mrs Hudson. It's not the first time John's punched me."

"Well this time, there weren't any naked women around between that and thirty minutes after, so I think this punch was better."

"You certainly put more anger behind it."

"Well I decided to on the spot. You were being horrible to those staff members and last time, you asked for it. Literally asked for me to punch you." John rolled his eyes at his friend and took a sip of tea.

"It's not my fault we had to trace down the Women," he told John through clenched teeth.

And with that, the conversation ended with both John and Molly taking a sip of tea.

~oOo~

Dinner came with many compliments to Molly for her excellent dinner. Greg, John, Sherlock and Mrs Hudson were all very impressed with Molly's cooking, so much so, she began to turn a bright red. Although, Sherlock does have that effect on her so most of the table suspected it may have been that variable.

~oOo~

Sherlock had insisted he escort Molly home, especially after the Study in Pink. He wasn't keen on taking cabs alone. He especially didn't want Molly to take a cab alone, though he'd never admit this to anyone.

"T-thanks for escorting me home, Sherlock," she beamed up at him.

He smiled down at her. "Thanks for dinner. It was delicious."

Her face reacted straight away, her face turning bright red. She looked away from him and nodded, feeling a small smile sneak onto her face.

"Do you want to come in, or…?"

"Uh, I don't think I have time. Sorry, Molly."

"Oh, no it's fine! You don't have to apologise," she bubbled out, feeling embarrassed about being alone with Sherlock with nothing in particular to say.

"I'll make it up to you though. We should have dinner again. Just the two of us. And I'll stay as long as you like," he said, feigning confidence.

"Oh! Uh, yes, of course, that sounds like a wonderful idea," she smiled and looked up at him once more.

"Until then, Molly Hooper," he leaned down and captured his lips with hers.

~oOo~

Molly lay in bed that night, Toby curled up beside her. A sigh escaped her lips as she smiled, thinking about how wonderful it was that she, Molly Hooper, the meek, quiet, mousy woman, had kissed Sherlock Holmes, the man she'd been crushing on since they had met all those years ago.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Tomorrow's prompt is 'wearing each other's clothes'. #worried**


	8. Day 7: Wearing Each Others Clothes

"Molly! I need your help! It's important! Life or death!" Sherlock screamed as he ran into the morgue, disturbing an incompetent staff member.

"Molly took the day off. She's at home," the woman said and Sherlock groaned before sulking out of Barts.

~oOo~

Molly was in her bathroom. She had just woken up and she was starting her daily routine.

_BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG!_

"MOLLY HOOPER! I NEED YOUR HELP NOW!" a voice boomed from just outside her door.

'_Oh goodness, what has Sherlock done now?'_ she wondered as she pulled a dressing gown around herself and running to the door.

"Sherlock!" she gasped as she opened the door, the man in shorts and a singlet, his legs shaved and his curly hair pulled back as much as possible. "What on EARTH happened to you?!"

"I need you. I need to look like a women for a case."

There was a pause, Sherlock staring frantically at her, his hands on her shoulders. A moment later, once Molly had comprehended what had been said, she burst out laughing.

"Alright then, come on in, I'll see what I can do." She guided him to her room and sat him down on her bed. "Just a mo. I need to get changed." Sherlock huffed in impatience before Molly appeared four minutes and 18 seconds later. "Come on into my studio."

He followed her into her bathroom and he was set down on the edge of the bathtub.

"What are you going to do to me that involves me sitting down?"

"I'm going to straighten your hair, it should come down much further and you'll look more feminine, despite your, well, everything."

~oOo~

After his makeup had been applied and hair had been styled, Sherlock was taken into her bedroom to look in her wardrobe.

"If you see anything you like, just say," she told him before taking out the few longer skirts she had.

"That black one, I suppose…" he frowned as she handed him the skirt and told him to change in the bathroom.

She shifted through the shirts, trying to find something that could fit. While she did so, Sherlock came back, shirtless and with the ridiculous skirt on, coming to his knees.

"I can't find anything that'll fit…"

"Just give me a jacket and I'll make do with that," he groaned and walked back to the bathroom to put his singlet back on.

Molly found a black coat her mother gave her one unfortunate Christmas in which the lady told her to grow into it, a deed Molly did not think she would ever achieve, especially because it fit Sherlock Holmes rather well.

"You are done," Molly told Sherlock while he spun for her, wearing her old flats that hurt Sherlock an awful lot.

"Great. Your turn."

~oOo~

Despite Molly's MANY protests, she ended up in Sherlock's room, a place she had never imagined herself in, with him passing her clothes every few moments.

He then eliminated clothes from her pile and she was left with her favourite shirt of his and a pair of shorts John had given to him and that Sherlock had stuffed into the furthest place from sight, because the furthest corner didn't make any sense.

Molly, needing a shower, was advised to use his own and was given her toothbrush that he nicked while in her flat. The entire morning was too weird for Molly. Nothing actually made sense and she didn't like it.

"Ok, Sherlock, please. Why are we wearing each other's clothes?"

"Well, there's a criminal at a particular club and I need a women to get in, hence myself, but it's a partner club so you're my boyfriend. John firmly said no, stating the rumours would fly and Mrs Hudson would "ship" us together." Molly's face fell and she sat down, absorbing what he told her. She placed a hand on her face and groaned. "Molly?"

"Yes. Exactly. Molly. I'm a girl, you- this is ridiculous. You are practically the smartest man in the entire world but you're seriously the stupidest man I've laid eyes on, and last week Mr Rodgers fell off a building when he dropped a dollar. I'm a woman and your character is a woman. She has a boyfriend and you are a man who could pose as my boyfriend. Are you picking up what I'm putting down?"

He looked at her with a straight face, getting in close towards her and placing his lips by her ear.

"I haven't slept for over 24 hours," he whispered before getting up and walking to his bathroom.

"Sherlock this is the most ridiculous waste of a morning ever."

"I hear you, Molly. My apologies. I'll make it up to you!" he yelled through the door and Molly rolled her eyes.

"Yeah yeah. I'm going home," she muttered and changed in Sherlock's room while he bathed and hurried home.

"Can I interest you in breakfast to start the repayment?" Sherlock asked as he exited the bathroom, expecting to see Molly.

"Repayment? What on earth are you on about, Sherlock?" John asked as he pawed through a newspaper, a tea by him.

"Never mind, I thought she would still be here," he muttered before walking out of 221B.

~oOo~

Molly arrived home and began her usual daily rituals, including the bubble bath, because it was Saturday. The knock on the door didn't faze her, she decided they can wait or sod off because she was busy being Saturday Morning Molly.

Half an hour later, Molly had left her bathroom. A knock on the door alarmed her and confusion swept over her.

'_Who on earth is that? If that's Sherlock with another crazy scheme, I'm going to punch that gorgeous face._'

She opened the door and her heart began to pump erratically. "Sherlock."

"First of all, I'm very sorry for my stupid idea. I thought it through and I was wondering if you'd like to come to this club as my girlfriend. It'll be your club, I suppose, but we only need to be there for, say, half an hour. I cancelled as Joseph and Lauren but I booked us in and it would mean a lot if you'd go with me.

"Secondly, in repayment for the foolishness of this morning, would you like to go to breakfast with me now?"

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys!**

**Tomorrow's prompt is 'shopping' and I have a feeling it's not going to go too well...**

**Thank you again for the great review! Every review is a great review and I appreciate great reviews ;)**

**I hope you liked this, I was VERY worried about this one! I didn't know how I was going to pull it off or how I was going to get enough words to fill my desired quota (at least 1K words for each day). Not to worry, I managed! Still am very worried, however... did I make it work?**

**A HUGE apology to everyone for the mix up concerning day 2, 3 and 4. I didn't know that it had screwed up. I checked after I switched the documents and it was fine. I think it's fixed now but if anyone sees anymore problems such as this, I'd really appreciate the heads up: I don't check the story once it has been uploaded.**

**Thanks everyone for reading, I hope you enjoyed!**


	9. Day 8: Shopping

It's the most wonderful time of the year… apparently. With Christmas comes these so called "Christmas presents", a thing Sherlock had never been fond of. He usually gave an ironic present to mummy and Mycroft, a newly minted coin that was still shiny.

This year, he had to get a present for John, Mrs Hudson, Molly and probably Lestrade for giving him cases and letting him be involved. Although, to be honest, Sherlock just solving the cases should be thanks enough. Lestrade had a load of incompetent idiots surrounding his office and if Lestrade expected a Christmas present, he should be sorely mistaken. But John and Molly both told him not to be so rude and to give Lestrade a present, and probably stop calling him by his last name. However, to Sherlock, Lestrade will always be Lestrade and not Gary or Gavin or whatever his name "is".

Molly had volunteered (ie, Sherlock forced to her take her next three lunches to come with him) to go shopping with him for these so called "Christmas presents".

"This is ridiculous, you can't buy Greg a gift voucher for a donut shop," Molly sighed, crossing her arms at her friend.

"I'm not buying GREG a voucher, I'm getting it for Lestrade. You really need to pay attention sometimes Molly," Sherlock sighed as he walked to the counter, ignoring Molly's demands for him to get out of the shop and to stop bullying Greg.

Who Greg was, Sherlock hadn't the faintest. Furthermore, Sherlock knew (deduced) that this donut shop was Lestrade's favourite donut shop and that was the extent of which Sherlock remembered about Lestrade.

"You should probably get Sally and Anderson a present out of good nature."

Sherlock scoffed at Molly's suggestion. "Donovan and Anderson deserve nothing from me. They can have the dirt from my shoes," he spat at her.

"Fine. Shall we look for Mrs Hudson's present next?"

"Yes. I was thinking a nice tea pot and perhaps some biscuits. She always forgets the biscuits…" Sherlock trailed off and missed the eye roll Molly gave.

"A tea pot sounds like a great idea but you are not getting Mrs Hudson biscuits to give to you and John when she has the kindness to make you a cup of tea. As she has said many times, she's your landlady, not your housekeeper."

"Molly, she'll appreciate the humour behind it," Sherlock rebutted.

With an exhausted sigh, Molly stopped battling him and went along with his scheme. She bought Mrs Hudson two cookbooks and shot Sherlock a dirty look as the lady bagged the purchases.

"She'll love it," Sherlock muttered under his breath as the checkout lady gave them an odd look, not that it was any of her business. She should just bag the bloody box of biscuits and forget that they were there in the first place.

~oOo~

"I can't think of what to get John," Molly told Sherlock as they searched the mall on day 2.

"His other laptop is filled with filth, I might get him a new one…" Sherlock trailed off and looked around vaguely at all the shops.

"What could I get him?" Molly asked to which Sherlock chuckled.

"I don't know. A stethoscope? He is a doctor after all."

"Would he be interested in maybe a war book?"

"As long as he's not in it, I'm sure he'll be interested," Sherlock replied as they walked into a book store.

Molly emerged after buying a big war history book. Sherlock had nipped off to an electronic store to purchase the laptop and he met Molly just outside the book store five minutes later.

"Who's left? You're not buying anything for the police force, just Greg, you got John and Mrs Hudson their presents, who's left?"

"Mycroft, I suppose. I might just get him a book about the Queen… mummy will probably just like a nice picture of me from the paper. And I think that's about it… oh, and you."

"Mycroft is the British government, why would he want a book on the Queen? And a picture of you isn't much thought and effort for your mother."

"I just want to annoy Mycroft as I do every day possible. A book on the Queen is perfect, after some work, of course. As for mummy, she loves me so she'll love a picture of me. Or a life sized cardboard cut-out of me… that could work too. It'd be like I was actually in her life… ok, yes, I'll get onto that."

Molly looked at Sherlock dumbfounded at his ideas of presents. First a donut voucher and now a cardboard cut-out of himself? Molly couldn't believe this was actually happening.

"As long as you don't get me a life sized cardboard cut-out of yourself, I think I'll have a nice Christmas," Molly muttered before walking away from Sherlock and back to work.

Sherlock, unbeknown to Molly, did not realise the sudden disappearance of his companion and went alone to Mycroft to badger him for some help. Mycroft, to Sherlock's surprise, was not amused.

~oOo~

Day three of the dreaded Christmas shopping and Sherlock had realised he only had to buy something for Molly. The mousy pathologist was not giving hints to what she would like nor what she needed. Anything he deduced she would shrug off.

Finally, he decided to let her pick anything she wanted, anything at all, and that would be her Christmas present.

Molly, on the other hand, had no idea what she wanted for Christmas, presents are supposed to be surprise and have some meaning behind them. A lazy Sherlock is not meaning behind a present. She too had to get something for Sherlock and she was having a mind space when she decided what to get him.

She had considered doing what he's doing for his family and get him a book on deductions or how to deduce but she didn't know where to start looking for it. Finally, she had a perfect idea, just as Sherlock was arriving at Bart's to take her shopping.

"Molly, stop being so decisive and tell me what you want for Christmas. I will actually get you anything you want as long as it's possible, so you can't have the moon."

"I'm going to look for your present now, Sherlock, and you can pop off and find something in this entire shopping complex to gift to me, alright?" she bargained, a frown being his response. "Wonderful. I'll text you when I'm done."

And with that, they parted ways, Sherlock being very unwilling. Molly went to get another chemistry set for the detective and Sherlock had gone to a jewellery store to see if there was anything she'd like.

He was buzzing around the rings when a woman interrupted him.

"Hello sir, can I help you with anything today?" she asked and it took everything Sherlock had to not deduce her.

"I'm not sure. I'm trying to shop for my girl friend. I don't know what to get her and she's been very vague about it all."

"Ooh, I think I've got just the rings you'd be interested in," she bubbled and skipped away from Sherlock who had his eyes glued on the jewellery in front of him. "Do any of these tickle your peach?"

Sherlock made a face, trying not to look at her, and trying to use these so called "manners" that John spoke of regularly. "These are all diamond infested…"

"Yes, it's the best engagement rings we have, in my opinion."

"Eng- I'm not getting engaged. She's my pathologist and friend and apparently we're supposed to give presents to our friends." He sighed and looked away. "Stupid woman," he added in a low whisper.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I'll leave you to it. Holler if you need anything…" she left Sherlock behind, looking at the ridiculous rings.

No. These weren't for Molly. She wouldn't like these. He shook his head and started to form little plans as to what he'd get for Molly. A dozen red and white roses followed by dinner seemed like a pretty good present, in his mind anyway. She'd like that and probably not realise how little effort and time went into organising that. Actually, maybe six dozen roses… he'd talk to Mycroft about it and make all the reservations. The British government can generally get great reservations in such short notice.

~oOo~

"Shopping with you isn't all that bad," Molly decided while eating some chips.

"Wow Molly, you sure know how to make a man weak at the knees," Sherlock said in a flat voice.

"Oh shut up," she teased and shoved him slightly. "You're going to love what I got for you!"

"You're going to love what I got you even more," he told her and made a mental note to call Mycroft ASAP.

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys!**

**Well, everything went better than expected! Tomorrow's prompt is 'Hanging out with friends'.**

**I hope you enjoyed it! I'm glad to say I finally managed to watch season 3 episode 1 and I'm trying to source episode 2! Yay!**

**I hope you enjoyed reading this, I had a lot of fun writing it! A huge thank you to everyone who has been reviewing! I really appreciate it! It also helps me out a lot as well *cough* doubling a chapter *cough*. Don't forget any review is a great review!**

**Thank you to everyone who has been reading my 30 day challenge, I hope it has brought a smile to your faces! :)**

**Until next time.**


	10. Day 9: Hanging Out With Friends

Sherlock Holmes looked like a super hero that one day. He almost flew into the morgue, his cape like coat flapping behind him as though its life depended on it. John was hurried behind him, almost out of breath. Molly was working in the morgue that day. To say she was surprised is an understatement.

"Molly, I need the bodies of Suzanne King and Rodger Newsbie pronto. John, help her. I'll get the riding crop," Sherlock barked as he ran up to the lab.

"W-what's going on?" Molly asked as she found the two bodies Sherlock desired.

"Usual. This one is a nine, apparently, and Sherlock is stumped. It's almost funny."

Molly smiled along with John and Sherlock rushed back to see them, a manic grin on his face that had both Molly and John recoil in fear.

"So, a nine, huh?"

"Molly, shut up. John don't think. Actually Molly, just go to the other room, thanks," Sherlock demanded as he took his stance, another grin at John.

Molly sighed and left to the lab, cleaning up the mess Sherlock had already made by running through it and knocking glass over.

"Great, it's another day of seeing that curly haired, ungrateful, cold hearted, rude, selfish, socially inadequate-"

"Are you going to continue insulting me with your random adjectives or are you going to come down to the morgue and help me?" a voice cut her off from behind, the voice of the curly haired swine.

Molly spun around, her jaw dropped; absolutely shocked that Sherlock had heard her. How was this even possible?!

"Sherlock! I-I-"

"That's great, Molly. You're needed in the morgue, chop chop." Sherlock stalked out of the room, as silent as a fox, almost as silent as his entrance.

Molly blushed a deep red as she walked out of the lab, her head down, absolutely ashamed that she'd been caught out by the one and only Sherlock Holmes.

"I don't understand what this is supposed to mean," John was saying to Sherlock when Molly walked in, her face still red.

"John, please, think."

Sherlock turned to look at Molly and pointed at the body.

"Tell me what you see," he grumbled and she nodded.

John looked down at the body, his muscles tightened, angry that Sherlock was being- well, himself, he supposed.

"I-is there a particular thing or am I listing it off?"

"Just." Sherlock paused for a moment, his fingers on the bridge of his nose and his eyes screwed up. "Molly. Just tell me exactly what you see."

"O-ok. Well, we already know that the man is a 34 year old, the woman is 36. The woman has had extensive plastic surgery and was poisoned. The bruises on her legs, if not made by Sherlock, indicate-"

"Bruises?" Sherlock cut her off, frowning at the body and touching the small bruises. "They're miniscule. How could- OH!"

"Sherlock, what is it?" John asked, frowning at the legs.

"JOHN! THAT'S IT! MOLLY, YOU'RE A GENIUS!" Sherlock yelled before kissing her quickly on the lips. "John, photo's, quickly! We've got to get to Scotland Yard. Molly, I need you to come as well. It's crucial that you come with us. You'll need to talk to Lestrade," Sherlock had either hand on her cheeks.

"I-I have to work…" she stuttered out feeling rather self-conscious.

"As much as I'd love to see this progress, can we please wrap it up? Molly, it'll take about half an hour, take your lunch break," John tried to which Sherlock nodded vigorously.

"I-I suppose I could…"

"Wonderful!" Sherlock beamed. "Let's go!"

He almost dragged Molly out of Bart's in his excitement and rushed over to a cab.

"Isn't this great? Us all solving crimes together?" Sherlock asked the other two as he squirmed in his seat with excitement, rubbing his hands together while he did so.

"I didn't really solve a crime with you two… I just pointed out the bruises…"

"Molly, you did so much more than point out the bruises. There mere miniscule, the size of freckles. Not even I had seen that!" Sherlock mused as the cabbie took a left ("Corners!" the childlike detective had beamed).

"They were rather obvious. I'd have thought that you would have seen them straight away. Especially because of the needles involved and-"

"Miss Hooper, please stop talking yourself down and myself up. You pointed them out when neither of us had. And they weren't on the autopsy report that we'd looked at either. I enjoy being with my friends and solving crimes. We should do this more often."

Sherlock smiled a manic smile at the doctor and the pathologist who looked at him rather blankly.

"I'm going to be blunt here, Sherlock. Your enthusiasm concerns me awfully."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, a smile still on his face."

"Oh John, you crazy doctor, my enthusiasm is rather politically incorrect, as I recall Mrs Hudson calling it one time…

"Is this what he calls hanging out with his friends?" Molly whispered to John who shrugged.

"I don't think he's had any to hang out with…" he replied.

"What are you whispering about?"

"How sad your life is," John replied, looking at the road ahead.

"'Ere we are," the cabbie sad and the trio piled out of the car, Sherlock handing the man money as he went.

~oOo~

After Sherlock, John and Molly had given their evidence and Sherlock wrapped it up with a big bow, Molly was kindly told to sod off.

John and Sherlock decided to walk back to 221B, seeing as they hadn't had lunch and Sherlock skipped breakfast.

"I can't believe you didn't see those bruises."

"Don't be daft, John. Of COURSE I saw the bruises. Who do you think I am?" Sherlock asked, a smirk on his face.

"Then why did you tell Molly that you hadn't?" he questioned.

"Because I wanted her to feel included and as though she matters to our daily routine of solving crimes. I wanted her to feel that she wasn't an extra and she is smart, because she is, John, but I don't think she feels it often enough," he sighed.

It was John's turn to smile as he looked at Sherlock.

"You actually care about her feelings? You? The infamous Sherlock Holmes? How is this even remotely possible?" he joked getting a frown in response from Sherlock.

"No need to mock me. As I've said before, Molly matters and personally, I don't think she thinks that so I'm trying to show her."

There was silence for a few moments before John chuckled.

"You know what? Today you were with all your friends. You had Molly, Greg and myself."

"Who is this Greg? Why does everyone mention him? I don't know who he's supposed to be. It's getting ridiculous," Sherlock groaned with a huge frown on his face.

"Lestrade. For a genius, you can be extraordinarily stupid sometimes." John shook his head at the end of his statement. _'He cares about Molly and her feelings,' _ he thought, getting a warm feeling inside, something he doubted Sherlock had ever felt.

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys!**

**Tomorrow's prompt is 'animal ears'!**

**I tried a few things for this and then I thought: "what would Sherlock consider hanging out with his friends?" and I got to an investigation. As you see, I incorporated a story earlier from day 6, kissing. I hope that was as adorable as I thought it was.**

**Anyway, I felt that I was balderdashing the last of it just to make up words, as you notice I did indeed get to the 1,000 quota I set myself *smug grin* and I think it was somewhat for the plot. I don't know how I went for the actual prompt, the prompt being Hanging out with Friends but I think I did alright. What did you think?**

**Remember any review is a great review. And great reviews make my day :)**

**Have a nice day! x**


	11. Day 10: Animal Ears

**A/N: Hey guys!**

**May want to revise Day 2: Holding Hands. Thanks for all the beautiful and great reviews, I appreciate every single one of them! I didn't make 1,000 words so i added another short story here for you after this one.**

* * *

Ever since the death of Toby, Molly couldn't look at animal ears without crying. They always made her think about her late cat and how adorable he was. It was something that had plagued her for months.

On the birthday of Toby, October 31st, she sat in her flat with a bottle of wine and the box set of _Glee_, along with tissue.

There was short sharp rapping on the door for the first time that night and Molly was quick to grab the bowl of treats she had partially consumed. She ran to the door and opened it, looking down slightly, expecting to see a child. Instead, standing there was a man dressed in black with curly black hair, white stripes on his cheeks and a black triangle painted on his nose. Cat ears stuck out of his curly hair and he smiled at her.

"Trick or treat?" Sherlock asked and she beamed at him.

"Sherlock, wh-what a surprise!"

"I knew you were feeling down, especially today and especially about cats so I asked Mrs Hudson to make me a cat outfit and she did the makeup and ears for me."

Without a word, Molly flew into his arms, stray tears escaping as she thought about what he had done for her.

"Thank you, Sherlock. Thank you so much," she whispered before beginning to sob into his chest.

"Anything for you, Miss Molly Hooper," he whispered and she released him before motioning for him to enter her flat.

The tears were running freely down her face and it gave Sherlock a strange, unusual feeling in his chest, almost as though his heart was squeezing.

"Are you alright? You have a pained look on your face," she told him and he frowned at her.

"I think I'm feeling. I think you're making me have feelings. What have you done, Miss Hooper," he teased before pulling her to the couch. He pulled her onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her.

Molly Hooper fell asleep in Sherlock's arms as he rubbed her back gently. Eventually, he fell asleep as well so the two of them were curled up on the couch.

~oOo~

Molly woke up and made breakfast for the two of them. When Sherlock had to leave, Molly burst out into laughter, pointing towards Sherlock's bottom.

"What- oh, you didn't see my tail yesterday?" he asked and she blushed before shaking her head.

"It suits you, by the way, being a cat."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and scoffed at Molly.

"Anything suits me, I rock it with a certain passion that no-one else can capture," he told her before winking and walking out of the flat, leaving Molly confused and intrigued as to what he's "rocked" before that gives him such certainty to his words, a mystery she knew she'd never solve.

Although, Mycroft might tell her…

* * *

_**Free one-shot because day 10 was too short. Prompt from: pet names. I found it online, can't post the link, my apologies. No spoilers from season 3… I hope.**_

* * *

The thing Molly loved the most about the two years Sherlock was "dead" was that he called on her. She was needed whenever his alias needed a girlfriend or wife. What she loved so much was the look he gave her (forced out) when they were incognito.

She thought, with Sherlock coming back, everything would go back to normal. Boy was she wrong.

"Cinnamon, I need a knife," Sherlock said one day, his eye pressed into a microscope.

"What did you call her?" John asked, noticing the blushes that formed on both of their faces.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Molly, knife," he snapped, clicking his fingers at the woman.

"_Cinnamon, what do you think of these?" Sherlock had asked as they walked around a seemingly harmless shop._

_Molly's head snapped up at the curly haired man and frowned._

"_What did you call me?"_

"_Cinnamon. Why, don't you like it?" he asked and she raised an eyebrow._

"_No, it's fine… but why?" she asked and Sherlock cursed her occasionally loud voice._

_He grabbed her hips and pressed his cheek against hers, placing his lips next to her ear._

"_If we're supposed to be married, we should at least have pet names or whatever they're called. I'm experimenting any you should probably catch onto that." Molly's eyes glued onto Sherlocks as he moved his head from her side and rest his forehead against hers. "Ok?"_

"_All I can think right now is Curls MT."_

_Sherlock's face screwed up in confusion, a look very adorable for him. "Isn't that a font?"_

_Molly chuckled before running a hand through his hair. "Blame your parents for your beautiful curls. They're on my mind," she told him as she fingered the little ringlets. _

"_Beautiful, not here," he said a little louder, giving her a semi-pointed look and pulling away from her, slipping his hand around her waist._

Molly blushed a brighter red as she thought about that memory, the first time she was called out of London to help Sherlock as his wife, an extremely odd concept for her to wrap her head around.

"There you go," she said as she handed him the knife," bold Curls MT," she added under her breath with Sherlock retaliating with a glare, an effort for him as he was glued to this specimen under the 'scope.

A small smile slipped onto her lips at his look and he rolled his eyes, looking back down.

John did NOT miss this odd display, hell, he even HEARD Molly!

"What was that, Molly? Anything you want to share with the class?" he asked, holding back a smirk.

She blushed red again and looked away, Sherlock getting consumed with his thoughts.

_They had been in a small town in Eastern Europe, posing as tourists. When they had gotten back to their hotel room, Sherlock was fuming. The criminals couldn't even do their jobs properly. People were dying and it was his fault for being unable to stop them. He was pacing the room, Molly watching from the bed._

"_A-"_

"_Molly, not now," he barked back, his hands going to his face._

"_Ooh, BOLD Curls MT, I see," she whispered and he stopped pacing to look at her, a teasing smile on her lips._

_He caught her eye and slowly a smile spread across his face. Molly stood up and walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck while he rested his hands on her hips._

"_My kitten, I just don't want more people to get hurt. It- it's just stressing me."_

_Molly nodded at Sherlock's bland words and kissed his cheek._

"_You'll figure out what to do, you're Sherlock Holmes," she whispered and put her head on his shoulder._

_He recognised this as a hug and began to hug her back._

"John, I left my phone at home, fetch it for me," he drawled out, John looking at Sherlock with mild horror.

"Are you actually serious, Sherlock?"

"Of course, John, or I wouldn't be asking. Some people, honestly."

John looked up at Molly who was busy doing paper work and sighed.

"Fine. But don't suddenly change destination before I come back."

John grumbled his way away and it was only after a few minutes that Sherlock jumped out of his seat and approached Molly.

"I can't keep this a secret," he told her and she looked up from her desk at him.

"What?"

"The pet names. John's bound to have caught on by now."

"And?"

"AND?"

"I don't see what the problem is."

"I can't very well keep calling you sugar or kitten every time I see you," he snapped, causing Molly to roll her eyes.

"There's a perfectly reasonable way to explain this, but it would require some effort and time." Sherlock looked at her puzzled and she rolled her eyes before continuing. "Coffee?"

"No thank you, I have some already," he told her before pointing at a cup sitting on the lab bench.

Molly sighed before nodding. "Huston, we have a problem."

"I don't understand."

"It's obvious, you just clearly don't have the mental capacity to understand what I'm suggesting we do here."

~oOo~

After repeating the plan a few times, Sherlock finally got exactly what Molly was getting to and he agreed, for now.

John walked into the lab, a phone in hand. When the door opened, his jaw dropped at the sight he saw. Molly and Sherlock were standing there, their lips attached. Oh.

"I-Sh-M-uh," John stumbled over his words before the door banged shut behind him, Sherlock and Molly jumping away.

"John! Wow. Uh, didn't expect you back so soon!" Sherlock fumbled, looking over at the beet red Molly.

"Yes, well, your phone was in my pocket. I found it as I was a block away from home," he replied, still baffled by what he just witnessed.

"I-I'm going to pop down to the morgue," Molly said, getting herself out of the awkward situation at hand.

Silence.

Molly had disappeared before either men had spoken again.

"What the bloody hell was that?"

"That was me kissing my girlfriend." John stared at Sherlock wide eyed. "Surly you heard the pet names. Cinnamon, kitten, Curls MT… I'm not overly fond on that one. I rather despise it…"

"H-how did this even happen?"

"What?"

"You becoming her boyfriend!" John grumbled.

"Oh. I asked her to dinner a few times, she said yes, we decided to be boyfriend/girlfriend. You've done this many times, I think you should know how it happens. Would you like me to explain sex, while we're at it?" Sherlock asked before going back to the specimen under the microscope.

John stood there, wide eyes and with a dropped jaw.

"Is this a joke? You'd tell me if this was a joke, right?"

"John?"

"What?"

"This isn't a joke. I somewhat love Molly Hooper."

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**A/N:**

**naww! Cute! Tomorrow's prompt is 'wearing onesies'!**


	12. Day 11: Wearing Onesies

Molly, John and Mrs Hudson crept into Sherlock's room one morning and crowded around his bed. Molly was to start the singing and the others would follow suit.

"Ha-"

"Molly shut your ungodly lopsided mouth. You are not the first thing I want to see when I wake up on my birthday," Sherlock grumbled while burying his face under a pillow.

"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson cried.

"Sherlock, just because it's your birthday doesn't mean you get to be an insensitive prat like every other day," John sighed before giving Molly an apologetic smile.

But a frown was plastered on her face.

"Well, should we get into presents?" Mrs Hudson asked, trying to defuse the tension.

"You lot know I'm not into the conforming of giving presents."

"Oh, come on, Sherlock. Humour us. We just want you to join in the game and then you can get back to sulking about how birthdays aren't real celebrations or whatever depressing thing you're trying to impose on the day," John scolded and managed to get Sherlock out of bed.

"Great, presents. Let me bathe and change and I'll meet you in the lounge room," Sherlock sighed and walked into his bathroom, leaving his friends and family behind.

~oOo~

He emerged in his usual clothes to find Molly, John and Mrs Hudson wearing ridiculous pyjamas.

"What on earth is this?" he groaned and they smiled at him.

"We decided to have a pyjama party and we got you one too." Mrs Hudson held out a large package that Sherlock reluctantly opened.

"Oh god."

"They're called onesies," Molly explained. "They've got feet and hoods. They're really rather comfortable, you know!"

"Excellent, another useless present that I'm never going to use. Ever."

"Oh, put it on, Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson beamed, watching the man who stared at the thing with disgust.

"Seriously? John? You let them do this?" Sherlock groaned.

"Actually, it was my idea," he replied, earning a glare in response.

After mouthing _I hate you_ to them all, he stalked to his room to put the ugly, bizarre gift on. Everyone sat in relative silence, not entirely sure what to say. Molly had tears welling in her eyes and both John and Mrs Hudson didn't know how to respond to it.

"There, are you happy?" Sherlock asked as he stalked out of the room, donned in a blue onesie.

The gang laughed at his appearance and Molly had the audacity to take a photo.

"It looks great," John laughed to which Sherlock glared at him.

"I look ridiculous."

"Is it comfy? The main thing is that it's comfortable," Mrs Hudson said and Sherlock groaned at them.

"Why do you torture me so?" he asked before falling into his chair.

"It suits you," Molly said to which Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Ooh, I made a special breakfast for you, Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson beamed before walking downstairs to retrieve the prepared breakfasts.

"Oh wonderful. Please tell me you spelt my age in bacon. That would set this birthday as the best one ever," Sherlock groaned, giving John a "is this a joke? Are you being serious right now?" look that John assumed was reserved for Anderson on a crime scene.

"It's a novelty present. It's pyjamas that are very comfortable and proves a much better cover than a sheet," John grimaced as he remembered the unexpected turn of events that was Sherlock without any pants on.

Molly sat idly, not particularly concerned with the conversation, yet wondering what on earth this sheet was and what it meant.

"Here we are!" Mrs Hudson beamed as she walked to the dining table. She placed four meals down and set the cutlery.

"You should be happy we went to the effort of getting one in your size. It's hard to come by, you know," John told Sherlock who rolled his eyes yet again and stalked towards breakfast.

No. Mrs Hudson hadn't written his age in bacon, she made breakfast to look like Sherlock's face. All four looked like Sherlock.

"It looks delicious, Mrs Hudson," Molly said before turning to Sherlock. "I didn't mean that you-"

"I get it, Molly."

John sent him a pointed look before smiling at Molly.

~oOo~

Lestrade had turned up at one stage, to Sherlock's horror. What made it even worse was that he arrived in a onesie as well.

"You're all out to humiliate me," Sherlock grumbled before pouting and avoiding anyone's eyes. "Next thing you know, Donovan and Anderson will be turning up as well."

"Actually, Sherlock, Sally and Phillip requested especially to have a shift today so they wouldn't have to see you around town. Of course, that was after I mentioned your birthday and after they were told there were no current cases for you."

"Great," Sherlock said before looking around at the bubbly people who sat talking amongst one another. His phone chimed and he jumped to action, grabbing it and running to his room calling "very urgent!"

"Sherlock, I wasn't expecting you to answer after only a few seconds," Mycroft said and Sherlock's mood plummeted even further.

"Oh, it's you," Sherlock said in a flat tone.

"That's not sociable, Sherlock. Please refrain from being yourself when you're on the phone to your family." Sherlock rolled his eyes at his brother's tone. Of course, it was just like Mycroft to lecture him about social etiquette. "Oh, and happy Birthday," he added with a chuckle.

"What do you know?"

"You're going to have to be more specific, Sherlock. I know many things, like, for example, that you are wearing, what's the term? A onesie? I'm not entirely sure, it's, in the words of Greg, not my division."

"Greg…? How on EARTH do you know that?" Sherlock groaned.

"Molly. She took a photo. And mummy and father said happy Birthday as well. They said that the one piece jumpsuit was adorable. Very cute," Sherlock and Mycroft groaned a little, neither hearing their brothers reaction.

"Pitiful. Of course they'd choose such words. Did they or did they not see the furiousness in my face?" Sherlock asked with a sigh.

Mycroft smiled at his brothers discomfort. "Enjoy your party. No cases for you if Greg doesn't see a permanent smile."

"Who the actual hell is Greg? Why does everyone keep mentioning this man?" Sherlock cried, frustrated with the stupidity of everyone.

"Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade, ring any bells?"

Sherlock sighed before hanging up the phone and plastering a smile on his face. He walked out of the bedroom and saw his friends smiling back at him.

"I don't know what changed your attitude, but I'm glad," John laughed.

Molly stood up and smiled. "Happy Birthday, Sherlock."

He pulled her into a short hug and whispered "that cat onesie suits you," before pulling away and winking at her.

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**A/N:**

**Poor Molly! Anywho, tomorrow's prompt is 'make up' *thinks thoughtfully* I don't know how I'm going to do this...**


	13. Day 12: Make up

Molly stood in front of the mirror in her bathroom. She was dressed in a tight fitting black dress, a choice she was a little uncomfortable with at the shop, but she was talked into it. Tonight seemed the perfect occasion to wear it. She was seeing Sherlock and going to a party, it was a good choice… she hoped.

She had bought her lipstick when she bought that wrapping paper for Sherlock. She hoped he wouldn't pick up on the correlation of the colour, but he was Sherlock Holmes after all. As long as he didn't make a deal of it, she was going to enjoy tonight.

~oOo~

The door on 221B Baker street had a note with the words "up the stairs in 221B" written on a page of paper.

"Oh, dear god."

Molly entered the room, a shy smile on her face as she ignored Sherlock's comment. She had her two bags of presents for her friends.

"Hello, everyone. Sorry, hello. Er, it said on the door just to come up," she said and everyone began to greet her. Except for…

"Oh, everybody's saying hullo to each other. How wonderful," Sherlock said.

Molly began to take off her coat and scarf, John walking over to take it. "Let me, er… holy Mary!"

Molly internally cringed. This was not the reception she had expected.

Greg gawps as well. "Wow!"

"Having a Christmas drinkies, then?" Molly asked, trying to ignore the comments from the two men she didn't want attention from.

"No stopping them, apparently," Sherlock grumbled as he sat down at a table, taking John's laptop.

"It's the one day of the year where the boys have to be nice to me, so it's worth it!" Mrs Hudson had said and Molly giggled nervously at her words, her eyes remaining on Sherlock who began to type on the laptop.

"Have a seat," John said, motioning to the chair behind her.

"John?" Sherlock suddenly asked and his friend walked over to the detective.

"Molly?" She turned to look at the person who called her name. "Want a drink?" Greg asked, distracting her from the conversation at hand.

"Oh, yes, that'd be great."

"And you've got a photograph of me wearing that hat!" Sherlock suddenly exclaimed.

"People like that hat."

"No they don't. What people?" Molly smiled slightly at Sherlock's words before turning to look at Mrs Hudson. "How's the hip?"

"Ooh, it's atrocious, but thanks for asking."

"I've seen much worse, but then I do post-mortems." Molly gasped as she realised what she had said, not that the awkward silence had hinted otherwise. "Oh, God. Sorry."

"Don't make jokes, Molly," Sherlock stated simply causing her face to flair up.

"No. Sorry." Greg handed her a glass of red wine which she took gratefully. "Thank you." Thinking on her feet, she got out of the awkward situation at hand, turning her attention to Greg. "I wasn't expecting to see you. I thought you were gonna be in Dorset for Christmas."

"That's first thing in the morning. Me and the wife- we're back together. It's all sorted," he grinned, something that relieved Molly. She was glad Greg was happy.

"No, she's sleeping with a P.E. teacher." Sherlock left his eyes on the computer and Molly looked back over at Greg who had a rather fixed smile on.

'_Oh God. Could this night get any worse?'_

Molly took it upon herself to get some more conversation in before things got too awkward. She turned to John who was sitting on the armrest of a chair, his girlfriend, Janette, sitting on the chair itself.

"And John. I hear you're off to your sister's, is that right?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Sherlock was complaining." Sherlock raised his eyebrows irritated, eyes still on the computer. She quickly corrected herself, "…saying."

"First time ever, she's cleaned up her act. She's off the booze." Once again, Molly smiled at John, Janette grabbing John's hand.

"Nope." Sherlock added in.

"Shut up, Sherlock."

"I see you've got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you're serious about him." Molly paled as she looked over at him, at Sherlock.

"Sorry, what?"

"In fact, you're seeing him this very night and giving him a gift."

"Take a day off," John grumbled in a hushed tone.

Greg grabbed a glass from across the table and put it down beside Sherlock. "Shut up and have a drink."

"Oh, come on. Surely you've all seen the present at the top of the bag- perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slapdash at best." He stood up and walked towards Molly, looking down at her bags of presents. "It's for someone special, then." He picked up his present, the one she wrapped once Toby was asleep and not crawling all over her. "The shade of red echoes her lipstick- either an unconscious association or one that she's deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has lurrrrve on her mind. The fact that she's serious about him is clear from the fact she's giving him a gift at all." Molly internally groaned, he had noticed and he was taking the mickey out of her. How could she have been so stupid?! "That would suggest long-term hopes, however forlorn; and that she's seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she's wearing." He smiled smugly towards John while turning over the tag on the gift. Oh no. This would not end well, not end well at all! "Obviously trying to compensate for her size of her mouth and breasts…" he trailed off as he looked inside the tag of the present.

_Dearest Sherlock_

_Love Molly xxx_

Oh why had she written that? Why?!

"You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always." She fought off tears as Sherlock began to turn away. How could she have been so stupid?!

Suddenly, he turned around and looked back at her. "I am sorry. Forgive me. Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper." He leant forward and kissed her on the cheek, a moment she hoped she'd never forget… the kiss, not the actions and words beforehand.

That was the day that Molly decided, no matter what was going on that day, she was not wearing makeup around Sherlock Holmes because it appeared he didn't like it.

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**A/N: Hey guys!**

**Tomorrow's prompt is yummy: 'eating ice-cream'!**

**Two major things to say, but before t****hat, thank you for all the great reviews! I really appreciate them! xxx 3**

**Fist of all: how was this? I don't know, was it a bad choice to use this? If you don't like it, tell me and I'll re-write it and put it as another chapter thingo mabob.**

**Second: it appears that I may need some prompts from you guys (see "chapter 1" for ideas of what I mean) because I've been rummaging for words and ways to thicken the word count. I know, I know, I don't really need to have 1K words each day, but I would rather read a story with 30 chapters and over 30K words than 30 chapters and 20K. Actually, I would probably skip the second story, I'm a big fan of lots of words.**

**Wow. THat went down hill fast. I'm not telling you how to write your stories or what I'd like to read, I'm just letting you know that I want lots of words on my stories because it's what I favour.**

**I think I'm putting my foot in my mouth the more I write. This is why I don't give opinions.**

**Alright, that's enough of me for one day, I hope I didn't offend anyone. If I did, I hope it wasn't too much, I'm sorry for what I've done.**


	14. Day 13: Eating Ice-Cream

They sat on top of the roof together, Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper. For their birthdays while Sherlock was dead, Molly and Sherlock made it a tradition to go up to the roof of Bart's. Molly brought a small tub of ice-cream and two spoons while Sherlock brought her presents from all the places he visited to bring down Moriarty's network.

Holmes and Hooper didn't really have an awful lot to say, Sherlock would babble on about his investigations and Molly would smile and nod. When they did get together, any time other than their birthdays, they had an awful lot to do and were unable to just talk.

"Why do you bring chocolate ice-cream?" Sherlock asked on Molly's birthday the second year.

"I don't know. I suppose because really everyone likes chocolate ice-cream and I thought you would too."

Sherlock's eyebrows compressed themselves and his lips turned down.

"I'm more of a vanilla person, myself," he told her and she nodded.

"I prefer rainbow."

"They're the same, you know."

"What?"

"Vanilla and rainbow are the same flavour. They're both vanilla but one has colours in it," he informed her.

"Psht, no. The rainbow one tastes more like caramel than vanilla."

"Seriously, Molly, you're not paying attention. They're the same colour just different colour," he argued and she held her hand up in a surrender position.

"Alright, alright. Believe what you want."

Sherlock pressed his fingers to his temples. "It's the same. I should know, I'm me."

Molly raised her eyebrows and scooped some more ice-cream.

"I like the view here. You chose a great spot last year. Oh, I didn't-"

"No. I get it. I thought the same thing."

There was another lingering silence then, not awkward, yet not completely comfortable, at least in Molly's opinion. Sherlock himself wasn't really paying attention, just thinking about how vanilla and rainbow were the same flavour.

"Alright. We'll test it next time we get together, alright?"

Molly looked over at Sherlock, confused by his decision.

"I- what? The view?"

"No, Molly, the ice-cream, of course!" he cried out, sighing in frustration.

"Oh. Alright. I'd get some now but…" she trailed off and looked down at the small tub.

"I said the next time we get together. Sometimes, you need to listen, Molly," he rolled his eyes at her and took another scoop of ice-cream.

Molly wasn't entirely sure why they did this. They didn't sit on the edge, they weren't even close. But they went out there and ate ice-cream together. He couldn't really go to an ice-cream parlour with her. They could have gone to the country or just left England all together, but Sherlock would come by before Molly's lunch and sat with her. On the first year, she had Sherlock's birthday off and they went to the roof of her flat's building to eat chocolate ice-cream. Sherlock told her all about the adventures he had that year and Molly nodded eagerly to hear about it.

Sure, sometimes she didn't understand what he actually did or what it meant, but she still loved to about it and she thought Sherlock loved to have someone to tell about all the adventures.

Today was different; Sherlock hadn't said anything about his adventures. Molly hadn't seen him since his last birthday and yet he had nothing to say. He hadn't brought anything with him (not that she minded, but it was odd) and he was acting really bizarrely.

"What have you been doing these past few months?" Molly asked her consulting detective.

"Usual," he replied before sighing and taking more ice-cream.

"Come on, you usually have a great story or two about how you took down some criminal and I love listening to them."

Sherlock scoffed at her words. "You don't usually understand them," he told her and took more ice-cream.

"So? I still love hearing them. Has something happened? Is something wrong?" she asked and bit her bottom lip, her eyebrows furrowing.

"No. I just miss life in London," he told her and she nodded before looking away down at the ground.

"I think London has missed you too. I have," she said, adding the last bit in a whisper.

"I've missed you too, Molly. I can't imagine how John's feeling. We see each other often. John, however, John hasn't seen me, heard from me or had anything to do with me for the last two years."

Sherlock moved away from Molly and walked closer to the edge, looking down at all the ant sized people. He took a sharp intake of the crisp, London air.

'_John,'_ she decided, _'it's because of him.'_

"He's alright, by the way. John. I was talking to Mary and she fills me in regularly. He doesn't come by the morgue anymore…"

"I figured that much. His life has pretty much frozen whilst I've been away."

Molly gave him an odd look but decided not to correct him. If he was going to live in the delusion that Sherlock is London, Molly would let him do so, it was for only a few months more anyway. She just nodded at him and turned her attention back to ice-cream.

"What about you? Has your life progressed much further since I left?" he asked and Molly shook her head as he turned around.

"Still work in the morgue, still doing the same stuff, still seeing the same people… except two… one died and the other lost a best friend. It's not too bad though. The dead one is still alive and he promises to see his best friend, so all in all, nothing has changed and I don't think much will change any time soon," Molly teased.

"Not seeing anyone?" he asked and Molly shook her head again.

"I've had a few dates, nothing overly serious…" she trailed off, Sherlock not noticing.

"Well, I just want you to be happy," he turned around and smiled briefly before sitting beside her and taking some more ice-cream. "You know what, Molly? This ice-cream would look great… on your nose."

Sherlock dabbed the spoon on Molly's nose, her eyes following the movement and leaving her cross-eyed for a moment or two. And with that, the ice-cream war started, although a child walking past Bart's thought it was raining ice-cream…

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys!**

**As requested by SammyKatz, here is Sherlock's POV about Day 12: Makeup. Day 13 already has just over 1,000 words so this isn't to make up words, this is just because it was requested and it seemed like a good idea. I hope you enjoyed day 13 and that you enjoy a new POV of day 12. :)**

* * *

Sherlock looked at the door of 221B. He heard the pitta patta of someone walking up the stairs and, based on who was in his apartment, Molly was the only one left.

"Oh, dear god." What was she wearing? She had bulked up and not to mention the cake face and that hair.

Molly entered the room, a shy smile on her face as she ignored Sherlock's comment. She had her two bags of presents for her friends.

"Hello, everyone. Sorry, hello. Er, it said on the door just to come up," she said and everyone began to greet her.

"Oh, everybody's saying hullo to each other. How wonderful," Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked away from Molly.

"Let me, er… holy Mary!" John exclaimed from behind Sherlock, causing him to turn around.

Molly was dressed in a tight black dress. Why would she wear that here in front of John and Lestrade?

Graham gawps at her too. "Wow!"

"Having a Christmas drinkies, then?" Molly asked, Sherlock averting his eyes from her as she did so.

"No stopping them, apparently," Sherlock grumbled as he sat down at a table, taking John's laptop.

"It's the one day of the year where the boys have to be nice to me, so it's worth it!" Mrs Hudson told Molly who giggled nervously at the words.

"John?" Sherlock suddenly asked and his friend walked over to the detective. This was not right…

"Molly? Want a drink?" Jeff asked.

"The counter on your blog is stuck at one thousand eight hundred and ninety five." Sherlock pressed his finger against the screen, making a point to his blogger.

"Ooh no! Christmas is cancelled!" John mocked causing Sherlock to sigh in frustration. But that's when he saw it. His finger moved to the side bar.

"And you've got a photograph of me wearing that hat!" Sherlock suddenly exclaimed.

"People like that hat."

"No they don't. What people?" Sherlock sighed once more, his blogger being an arse today.

"How's the hip?" he heard Molly ask as he continued to stalk the blog.

"Ooh, it's atrocious, but thanks for asking," Mrs Hudson replied with a smile in her voice.

"I've seen much worse, but then I do post-mortems." Molly gasped as she realised what she had said. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh, God. Sorry."

"Don't make jokes, Molly," Sherlock stated before continuing to scroll through the comments of various dimwits on the blog.

"No. Sorry. I wasn't expecting to see you. I thought you were gonna be in Dorset for Christmas." She was talking to Gavin now. Oh God, was she purposefully trying to get him annoyed?

"That's first thing in the morning. Me and the wife- we're back together. It's all sorted." There was a grin in his voice.

"No, she's sleeping with a P.E. teacher," Sherlock replied, switching tabs to the Science of Deduction.

"And John. I hear you're off to your sister's, is that right?" she moved on after a few seconds.

"Yeah."

"Sherlock was complaining." Complaining?! Sherlock Holmes does not complain about anything, especially about John. "…saying." Had he said that aloud?

"First time ever, she's cleaned up her act. She's off the booze." Sherlock forced back a scoff.

"Nope."

"Shut up, Sherlock."

Sherlock spun around to look at Molly. "I see you've got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you're serious about him."

He noticed how her face paled when he spoke. "Sorry, what?"

"In fact, you're seeing him this very night and giving him a gift."

"Take a day off," John whispered.

Lestrade grabbed a glass from across the table and put it down beside Sherlock. "Shut up and have a drink."

"Oh, come on. Surely you've all seen the present at the top of the bag- perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slapdash at best." He stood up and walked towards Molly, looking down at her bags of presents. "It's for someone special, then." He picked up the top present, jealousy coursing through his veins. "The shade of red echoes her lipstick- either an unconscious association or one that she's deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has lurrrrve on her mind. The fact that she's serious about him is clear from the fact she's giving him a gift at all. That would suggest long-term hopes, however forlorn; and that she's seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she's wearing." He smiled smugly towards John who was shaking his head, looking down at his shoes. What on earth did THAT mean?! Sherlock looked back a the present and turned over the tag before continuing on his deductions. "Obviously trying to compensate for her size of her mouth and breasts…" he trailed off as he looked inside the tag of the present.

_Dearest Sherlock_

_Love Molly xxx_

Well shoot.

"You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always." She fought off tears as Sherlock began to turn away. How could he be so stupid?! Why did he have to embarrass her at the Christmas party of all places. She was usually always free for Christmas and would come to the morgue if needs be.

He turned around, feeling terrible. "I am sorry. Forgive me. Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper." He leant forward and kissed her on the cheek, a moment he hoped she would understand as an apology for everything. This was certainly a Christmas he'd never forget.

Sherlock noticed that Molly never wore makeup in his presence again. _'A good decision too_,' he decided. _She looks so much better natural, she's already beautiful_.'

* * *

**A/N:**

**Yay! Loads of cute! Tomorrow's prompt is 'gender swap'! Eep! Never written gender swap before! Wish me luck!**


	15. Day 14: Gender Swap

Marcus Hooper, the meek, twigy pathologist at Bart's was, to be honest, a more than a little annoyed when the married-to-her-job Cheryl Holmes burst into his morgues doors. She was tall woman who was incredibly smart and seemed to know things before anyone knew them themselves. She had long, curly black hair that she wore in a ponytail. Her companion, Joanne Watson, was always hanging around, and being an ex-soldier, she was pretty bad-ass.

Cheryl had run into the morgue at 10:56am with Joanne. Georgia Lestrade wasn't far behind, followed by Phillpa Anderson and Salvador just-call-me-Sal Donovan.

"What are we facing here, Cheryl?" Georgia asked, her eyebrows furrowed and her arms crossed.

"Not sure, Grace. I need to see the body and yet doctor Hooper here is stopping me." She shot Marcus a dirty look.

"S-sorry, Cheryl," he stuttered and grabbed the body for them to see. "The autopsy noticed a huge gash along his stomach that seemed to start on the left side and travel to the right. It penetrated organs. However, that wasn't the cause of death. The victim is missing its heart and it appears to have been removed while he was alive," Marcus told the group of people who looked at it thoughtfully… except Cheryl who started to run her fingers over the wounds and getting out her magnifying glass.

"Jo, examine it and tell me what you can deduce from it. Anderson, open your bloody mouth and you'll be the next one being wheeled into the morgue," Cheryl ordered and threatened while examining the place the heart should be.

"It was ripped out, like literally ripped out of the body," Joanne told her, looking into the empty place of the chest and then at the claw marks around it. "No, something SCRATCHED it out!"

"Animal attack?" Georgia asked.

"In London? Doubt it. May have been a sacrifice of some kind. I- oh. Jo, date, now!"

"Uh, January 14th?" Joanne asked as she looked down at her watch.

Cheryl sighed and began to rub her temples. "I was afraid of that."

"What? What's happened?" Salvador asked.

"Look, SAL, if you were concerned with anything remotely interesting, such as human sacrifices, you'll know that today is a critical day in the Mayan calendar for sacrfices. Joanne and I are off. I don't expect we'll see much of you lot any time soon. Thanks Marcus," Cheryl called before grabbing Jo's wrist and dragging her out.

"Well that was more weird than usual…" Phillipa grumbled, staring after the duo.

~oOo~

"Marcus, we're using the lab now. Thank you, goodbye," Cheryl had said about an hour after bursting out of the morgue.

"What for?" He asked, panic crossing over his face as he picked up the paper work lying around.

"So I can give Joanne a strip tease! What do you think? Now scram!" Cheryl yelled and Marcus stumbled towards the door, worried as to what would happen if he stayed.

"Oh God. That man," Cheryl shook her head and looked at Joanne who had her arms crossed. "What?"

"Are you really that daft?" Jo shook her head.

"I don't understand what I'm so daft about."

"Never mind, you'll never understand what's going on in the first place," Jo grumbled and rolled her eyes.

Cheryl looked at Jo with absolute confusion before raising her eyebrows and looking at the samples she had taken from the crime scene.

Marcus sat outside and looked in at the duo who begun work after a few minutes. He still had to do his own work and yet, here he was waiting for Cheryl and Jo to finish their case off, knowing they'd be out in a few minutes.

~oOo~

Three hours later and they still weren't gone. Marcus was running out of time and needed somewhere to do his work. The morgue was busy and he was left with no options.

'_Shell!' _he suddenly realised. _'Michelle could help me!_'

Markus ran up to find Michelle Stanford and to ask if he could use her office for a short time. Being the kind person she was, she agreed with a grin on her face.

~oOo~

Cheryl had walked into Stanford's office about an hour after Marcus ran to find a better place. After a few knocks, she walked in, a small smile directed at Marcus.

"Hey. I'm really sorry about that all."

"About what?" Markus lied as he crossed his arms and his lips turned down.

"You know, for stealing your lab and overtaking your morgue with, gah, Anderson and Donovan. Stupid gits."

"Alright, it's fine. I'll just work a little later to catch up."

"I'm really sorry. Can I help out?" Cheryl asked as she pouted slightly at Marcus.

"No, honestly, it's fine. Michelle was alright with me hanging out here until I was done. I might just move back once you two are done."

"Oh, we are."

"Is it cleaned up? I don't feel like staying later for that, Cheryl."

Cheryl began to wring her fingers. "If you COULD, though Marcus, I would be eternally grateful and be in your debt for the rest of my life," she told him, smiling sweetly at the man.

Marcus couldn't resist her sweet tone and sweet smile, he always gave in, as pathetic as that was. "Er, yeah, I suppose I could…."

"Excellent," Cheryl said, becoming her usual, cold self. "Jo and I are out of here. Goodbye, Marcus."

Marcus stumbled out a "uh, yeah, yeah… goodbye Cheryl…" before scooping up his paperwork and going down to the lab.

When he got there, his mouth dropped and he groaned. The entire lab covered in a thick, tough layer of blue goop that clung to the surfaces. Marcus was not staying late tonight, he was NEVER going home and he didn't even know what this was. There was an A4 piece of paper lying in the middle of the room on the ground and Marcus managed to move over towards the paper.

'_Sorry, Marcus. Thank you for cleaning this up, we attempted but it's like stone once it dries completely. Don't ask what it is, you won't like it. –CH.'_

Great.

It was at that moment that Marcus realised that Cheryl was not a good companion and would be a terrible girlfriend… it was at that moment Marcus gave up on a relationship with Cheryl who had probably just cost him his job.

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys!**

**Tomorrow's prompt is 'in a different clothing style' and a hint at the bottom of this authors note!**

**Eeep, did I do ok? I'm not too sure... oh well, as long as you liked it. I think it's a pretty accurate representation of how Sherlock acts to Molly, even if it is a bit exaggerated.**

**I was actually going to give you a hint to tomorrow's story! I've written tomorrow's and that's about it, I don't want to get too ahead of myself but I still want to write what I can without being too influenced by Season 3 (haven't seen last episode yet and, not gonna lie, I'm scared) and all the feels!**

**Uh, what else? I don't know... oh yes! The hint! I'll give you two for my forgetfulness.**

**1. Moffat.**

**2. Doctor Who.**

**Take that as you will. Not a particularly feel-ie story and not a whole lot of Sherlolly, they'll be friends. Anyway, there you go! So, I'll see ya tomorrow ;) **


	16. Day 15: In a Different Clothing Style

Sherlock had a mad, giddy smile on his face as he ran through the shopping centre, dragging Molly along with him. They were on another mission, an undercover case. And Molly was getting a makeover. The beautiful, frumpy Miss Molly Hooper was to become the concerned sister and formal business woman, Miss Hooper, the sister of Mr Rory Hooper, the fan-boy.

Lurking in the dark realms of the internet was an obsess fan-boy who was planning a kidnapping. Who? Sherlock was unsure. However, he knew that that person would be going to the family and fan support group in which a family member escorted a fan to a support group where they talked about their "fandoms" and all the so called "feels"(?). Sherlock was VERY confused by these odd terms. They had feelings not "feels". What's the point of cutting down that word? He had no clue.

Sherlock, or Rory as he will be attending as, was supposed to be a Doctor Who fanboy who was having these "feels". God, just the word made his skin crawl. Molly helped go to all the fan shops to get bits and pieces. Overall, Sherlock felt ridiculous and absurd in all this Police Box objects.

He was donned in a blue beanie, a fez in a bag , along with a wallet with nothing but a piece of blank paper, or psychic paper as the fans allegedly called it. He had something called a sonic screwdriver and- no, it was too much for him to just rattle off. Mycroft would disapprove of the bill raked up in his name.

~oOo~

Molly held Sherlock's hand as he began to cry in character.

"I mean-" he started, tears falling down his face, "it's that Moffat! He's just trying to hurt my feels! Why would he do that to me?! I changed my name to Rory because I was so inspired but… look at where I am now! Sobbing, like a child."

A wail left Sherlock's lips as the other fans nodded with him.

"Rory doesn't stop going on about how Moffat has ruined his life and how if it wasn't for him, he'd live a much happier life. He just wants to experience less feelings," ("Feels!" Sherlock corrected her) "sorry, feels, and to get more Doctor Who," Molly explained to all the teary-eyed fans who sat around in the small garage of the host's parents house.

"Damn Moffat. If only someone told him how to not hurt everyone! I can't stop but cry whenever I see a statue or when I see a grave stone. Just the mention of Rose and I- I'm sorry," a man said before suddenly caving in and bawling his eyes out.

Sherlock squeezed Molly's hand three times, alerting her to the fact Sherlock suspected that man with a passion. Unfortunately, however, everyone seemed to agree with this. It seemed _everyone_ wanted to get their hands on this Moffat and set him right. This was not going to be an easy task. Molly was unsure Sherlock could pick up the one who would actually do it.

"I see you wore all your merchandise, Rory," the leader, Stan, said and Sherlock shook his head.

"No, I forgot to put the fez on top of the beanie and I left my ten trench coat at home. But I bought my TARDIS scarf." He let out another loud sob and collapsed onto Molly's shoulder. Still imitating his sobs, he raised his lips to her ear. "I don't know. I can't tell. They're all psychotic and want to kidnap Moffat. They don't want to kill, that would bring the whole fandom down.

"I had to take some things off him as he tried to walk out the door. I said this is a support group and he should tone it down a bit. He cursed Moffat out for his inconvenience to him and his money. That screwdriver is signed by David Tennant and I had to force him not to bring it tonight." Molly frowned and looked down at her shoes before shaking her head. "It's just so hard."

"Don't worry, everyone. I'm meeting up with Moffat soon and I'll mention the feels and lack of episodes," a man said. He wore a partial _Star Wars_ clone troopers uniform with a TARDIS shirt and a red fez.

"What are you going to say?" Sherlock suddenly asked as he spun away from Molly.

"I don't know… I suppose we'll see…" Sherlock scanned over the man once more and nodded before turning to Molly and nodding subtlety.

Sherlock texted Gavin Lestrade the name of this man and told him he'd have his people watch over him.

~oOo~

"I'm not even going to ask how," Molly had said as they sat in 221B and after Gavin had told them about the arrest made.

As soon as the homeless community were on the case, the man was caught as soon as he walked up to Moffats front door. The police had hurled around the corner and the crying, feel infested man was captured, a story the Doctor Who fandom were taking rather well.

"It's a skill. Now, what do I do about all this blue, Doctor Who merchandise?" Sherlock frowned as they examined a large box filled with stuff Sherlock considered junk.

"Well, I think this is all rather valuable. You should sell them online. You'll have partially happy fans and a few more hundred dollars up your sleeve."

"Eugh, I don't need money…"

"Well you don't need this," Molly rebutted as Sherlock paced around it a few times.

"I could take it down to that support group, free to good home. They'd like it…" Sherlock frowned and peered in it again. "Or, I could just join the fandom…"

"No way. You saw what it did to those people in there. They could have been leading normal lives but they were-"

"You know, you looked good dressed in the business woman clothes." Sherlock suddenly turned his attention on his pathologist and sank into his armchair.

"Oh…?"

"Yes. You should aim for it more often and not those goddamn flea-infested jumpers."

It wasn't much of a compliment, but Molly would take it.

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys!**

**Tomorrow's prompt is 'morning ritual(s)' and, not gonna lie, more than a little worried!**

**I'm back! ****I hope you enjoyed that. I am not hinting that we should kidnap/kill Moffat because that is ridiculous. Quite the opposite, I beg you to all leave him be (ie don't turn up to his house with a knife or a death threat). Please, no-one kill him, I need him.**

**Anywho, I hope you enjoyed that. I couldn't think of any clothing styles because that's not my division (clothes. I just wear a t-shirt and jeans or my jammies) so I thought Fandom and business, two things they haven't particularly divulged into before/yet.**

**Thanks again to everyone who's reviewed, I really appreciate it! xx**


	17. Day 16: Morning Ritual(s)

_Bzt! Bzt! Bzt!_

The alarm beside the bed rang and Sherlock's hand emerged from the sheets to turn it off. He sat up in bed and ruffled his hair.

"Good morning, world of tiny people," he muttered before swinging his legs over the side of the mattress.

* * *

_Nants ingonyama bagithi Baba_

_Sithi uhm ingonyama_

"The Circle of Life" blasted from the iPod beside Molly's bed. She opened her eyes, and blinked a few times before turning off the alarm, knowing the second was soon to come.

* * *

Sherlock slid his dressing gown on and stumbled to his bathroom. There was silence in 221B, something he expected as it was a Wednesday. John was at work and it was just past 11 so Mrs Hudson was out shopping. Sherlock entered the bathroom, annoyed that, yet again, John left the shower dripping.

* * *

She picked up her iPod and grabbed her towel and undergarments before heading to the bathroom. Once she had put everything in the prepared place, she striped and jumped into the shower.

* * *

After relieving himself, he went to make some tea and to check for any clients, a thing he desperately hoped for. He was beginning to get bored.

There was tea on the coffee table… how had that happened? It was cold, too. Must've been John's.

* * *

Molly brushed her teeth after her shower and walked into her bedroom again. She found some comfortable clothes she wore to work occasionally and slipped them on. After grabbing her bag, she headed out, needing to get breakfast on the way.

* * *

Sherlock frowned as he looked at the kitchen. How does anyone make things from stuff? He was not good at that. Not at all. With a sigh, he decided to get breakfast out. No clients and no cases meant he could eat and he would have breakfast today.

* * *

She bought a muffin and a caramel latte before heading off to work, eating as she walked. She always left early enough to walk to work, an activity she enjoyed immensely.

* * *

Sherlock nipped into a coffee shop a few streets from Baker Street and ordered bacon and eggs, his breakfast favourite, besides eggs Benedict, of course.

* * *

The morgue was, as usual, clean and precise, meaning Molly could not and would not eat or drink in her work place. She went upstairs to the lab with the rest of her muffin and the last of her latte. She had a few post-mortems to perform and some paperwork to attend to. All in all, a typical Wednesday, as long as Sherlock didn't blunder up the stairs and start to solve crimes today.

* * *

The breakfast was at a substandard quality but Sherlock couldn't be bothered to complain. He had nothing to do now and he was getting bored. What does a man do on a Wednesday with nothing on his schedule? He only had one idea…

* * *

Molly finished her paperwork by 11 before beginning to work on the autopsies. She had five bodies to do before 2 and she was determined to do them as quickly and as well as possible, a feat Molly found was not impossible.

By twelve, she had finished a body and was about to start the next when the doors flew open.

* * *

Sherlock. It was Sherlock.

"Oh, didn't expect you today. Anyone in particular?" she asked and he rolled his eyes.

"Do I always have to be here for business, Molly?" he asked and she shifted awkwardly.

"Well, it's always best if you are. Probably shouldn't seek pleasure from a morgue…" Sherlock huffed at her statement and walked towards her and the body.

"What are you doing?"

"M-my job?"

"Is that a question or a statement?"

"Well, I don't really know, are you implying I'm doing something wrong or I'm missing something?" she asked and he frowned.

"I'm literally asking you what you're doing," he told her, his hands gesturing to the bodies, an unamused expression on his face.

"Why do you always come here when you don't have a case? You're not quite bored enough to ruin Mrs Hudson's walls. Why can't you be like everyone else and invest in friends or a job or a hobby you can do without a case?" she groaned and he looked at her confused.

"Consulting detective is both a job and a hobby and both require a case. Do you have any other suggestions?" he asked, confused as to what she was going on about.

"You could always become a Medium; you can pick up on little things about people. If they had to show you a photo, you just make things up and get paid while making people relatively happy. You can do it part time while you don't have cases. You'll always have clients, no matter what, and you always get to deduce people," she said before leaning over to start the autopsie.

"That is a ridiculous idea. 1, people will know it's a lie. 2, -"

"You just reinforce it within your cases. Scotland yard get the hard facts and John's blog goes on a different direction."

Sherlock chuckled in amusement and shook his head. "You, Miss Hooper, have a good sense of humour occasionally." He sat down on a bench and let Molly start the autopsy.

"I saw a show about Mediums last night. It was rather interesting and made me think about how you could convince people that you're the real deal."

"Are you purposefully trying to make me go with nonsensical stories about television and me abandoning my field of interest?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms, his lips turning down.

"N-no. I was just saying…" she trailed off, knowing Sherlock wasn't listening to her.

"If you don't want me to come into the morgue on my days off when I'm relatively bored, just say the word."

"No, I do enjoy having you here," she told him, dread filling her that he'd decided she was not worth any time.

"Well then, shut up and work," he teased, a smile on his lips.

She turned to look at him and noticed the grin. She returned it and went back to work, neither talking for most of the day and both going out together for Molly's lunch.

* * *

**A/N:**

***chuckles* Sherlock being a Medium. Thank _Supernatural_ for that one. Tomorrow's prompt is 'spooning' o_O how will this work out?**


	18. Day 17: Spooning

Spooning. From the moment Sherlock had heard the term until the day he experienced it, he thought it was when you went and bought new spoons, a reasonable deduction, Sherlock decided, as John had never mentioned spooning and their spoons were old ones Sherlock had from when he left home. Mummy didn't know he stole them, mainly because Mycroft had been conducting some stupid experiment that no-one was allowed to know about or get involved in. He had been using spoons and, as Sherlock wasn't one to shop, he took a stash for his tea and coffee, knowing he could just easily go to a restaurant or café for food. Spoons were a necessity.

One time, he talked to Molly about the necessity of spoons. She agreed. Spoons were much more important than forks or knives or, dare he call it cutlery, sporks. Funny thing about sporks, they weren't in Microsoft Word's dictionary and, quite frankly, that disturbed Sherlock beyond reason.

There was nothing he could do about that, though. He had sent an angry letter asking if they could put it on but they refused on the basis that they didn't classify it as a real cutlery, it was a slang term. Molly was irritated at this discovery. He didn't really have a right to write angry letters to large corporations demanding a small, insignificant change that was not important at all to what anyone had to say or how life went.

Sporks aren't important. Spoons are. Spoons. Sherlock had a specific spoons he used for his tea, coffee and sugar. The one that was rusting slightly was for his coffee. The one with the picture on the handle was-

"Sherlock, are you ok?" a feminine voice asked.

He blinked a few times before turning to face the woman.

"Molly. Oh. Hi. When did you arrive?" Her jaw dropped as she looked at the man, frozen whilst making tea or coffee.

"When- oh God. You don't pay attention at all, do you?" she asked and he frowned.

"What do you mean?"

She raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms.

"I'm bringing the remains over like we discussed in the morgue and then, half an hour ago, you called demanding them. I arrived 5 minutes later and you stood frozen over your hot beverage. Are you feeling alright?" she informed him and walked towards him.

"Oh. Er, yeah. I'm fine," he said, taking a step back before realising he was crammed between her and the bench.

"Really?" she took faster paces and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. "You're burning up."

"No! No, you are NOT my doctor, John's my doctor, Doctor Watson. DOCTOR!" he yelled.

"John's at work. And it's not like I'm going to kill you!"

"You work with dead people, you'd know what to do," he told her with a grumble before slipping past her and stumbling to his armchair.

"I just cut them up, they're almost always dead. Oh, sorry, I know how you feel about my jokes," she flushed before shaking her head.

"Molly, just- oh God," he jumped up and rushed to the bathroom.

She watched him, alarmed as to what had just happened. As soon as she registered the occurrence, she ran after him, probably to hold back his hair while he vomited, she wasn't sure.

She quickly sent a text to John requesting he comes back to 221B, something was wrong with Sherlock.

* * *

Molly ran a face washer under hot water and rung it out. She made some soup and put it in a small bowl before taking the two objects to Sherlock's bedroom.

"Have some food and then go to sleep, alright?" she told Sherlock, placing the bowl on his lap.

"Thanks Molly." He began to eat as the meek girl sat on the edge of his bed.

Sherlock closed his eyes as he swallowed. He knew why he was sick. He knew what was wrong. The spoon. It was the damn spoon. It wasn't his coffee spoon. He grabbed a spoon, the wrong spoon.

Spoon is a funny word. Why does spoon sound funny? The letter P looks a bit like a spoon; at least that's what sick, poisoned Sherlock thought. Poisoned Sherlock wasn't quite like drunk Sherlock. Poisoned Sherlock still had that thought thingy mabooa and can jucy deducy. Hello Mr Poisoned Holmes! You needan antidote! woooooooo!1!11!

* * *

Molly watched as Sherlock began to splutter.

"Wrong… spoon… poison… help… John…" Sherlock began to froth at the mouth and Molly gasped.

She ran from the room and called John. As the phone dialed, John ran into 221B.

"Molly! What's going on? What's wrong?" John yelled as he ran up the stairs.

Clean shaven, dressy pants, John was going for a date and he was running late. How had she done that?

"Sherlock. He's going on about a wrong spoon and poison? He was making coffee and he asked for you before he-"

"Where is he?" he cut off, running into the lounge room.

"His room, quick!"

John ran in, Molly following behind, tears welling in her eyes.

* * *

John sat in his armchair, a tea by his side as he tried to calm down from the shock of saving Sherlock.

Molly, on the other hand, was in Sherlock's room, propped up on one arm on his bed, lying beside him. She dabbed at his forehead with a face washer and stroked his hair when he wasn't sweating like a guilty criminal on trial. Molly was starting to feel tired, she wanted to sleep, but was unsure on how Sherlock would react.

The man himself was unconscious. He felt cold, despite the sheet that he felt lying over him and the few layers of clothes he had on. His head was hot, though, and he felt somewhat warm on his back, warmth he relished.

Molly drifted further. She began to crawl down towards Sherlock. She draped an arm around Sherlock's waist and snuggled up behind him.

* * *

Spooning. From the moment Sherlock had heard the term until the day he experienced it, he thought it was when you went and bought new spoons, a reasonable deduction, Sherlock decided, as John had never mentioned spooning and their spoons were old ones Sherlock had from when he left home. Mummy didn't know he stole them; Mycroft was at fault for that. Spoons were a necessity.

Sherlock was being spooned while he slept. For some odd reason, he found it rather… comforting. He always hated contact. This was different. There was poison in his system, but that was not the reason for this comfort.

He eventually woke up, seeking the warmth he had gained. His head turned to see Molly lying behind him. She looked exhausted, she had reason to, he supposed. He rolled over and her arm fell off him as a result.

"Molly Hooper," he muttered, a smile forming on his lips which he then pressed into her hair. He rolled her over and held her tightly in his arms. "My dear, sweet, Molly Hooper."

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys,**

**Tomorrow: 'doing something together'**

**Please do not even get me started on how many minutes I spent staring at a blinking cursor. How could either con the other to spoon. Sherlock is anti-people and contact etc, how would he willingly accept this?**

**Anyway, I hope I did alright. Don't think I could do this again, I had no inspiration and hadn't seen anyone else write this so… yeah. I am starting to run out of ideas. If anyone can help with tomorrow, that'd be great! **

**Reviews are great, totes appreciate it etc, I'm tired. Goodnight, fan fiction world! x**


	19. Day 18: Doing Something Together

**A/N: Hey guys!**

**Thank you all for the beautiful reviews!**

**I wanted to say something to the guest who reviewed yesterday. They requested that Molly and Sherlock be smoking together for this... I don't know what to call this... anyway, I want to justify myself to you as to why they're not smoking and why they're in Paris instead. When I was about seven or eight (back in 2003 or so), my dad got very ill. He was a smoker himself and had been smoking heavy stuff for years and years. He was practically on his death bed in hospital and I remember we went and visited him and god... it was horrible. I can't stand to see smoke from cigarettes (real or otherwise) and I don't feel comfortable writing about smoking when I'm so anti it myself and it effected my family in such a way that it did. I couldn't bring myself to have my favourite characters smoke when I cringe thinking about it. My friend had an ecig with that raspberry smelling smoke... or something, I don't know, and when everyone said it smelt yummy, I was trying to get away from it.**

**My apologies, this has turned into a 'spill-the-beans' session and not anything of importance. I couldn't bring myself to write about something that I see no good in and that makes me feel sick. Something that has hurt my family so much is not something I want to write about and don't feel comfortable writing about. I'm sure you understand and have something you can relate to it.**

**Once again, sorry about this anti-smoking advertisement. Thank you so much for the suggestion, I really did appreciate it!**

**Everyone just ignore me and enjoy the thingo below. xx**

* * *

"One hundred and fifty five thousand beers on the wall, one hundred and fifty five thousand beers, you take one down and pass it around, one hundred and fifty five thousand, nine hundred and ninety nine beers on the wall," Sherlock started as Molly began to drive.

"Sherlock, you are not singing that in this car."

Sherlock and Molly were on their way to Paris and, to make matters much easier, Molly had hired a car for them to travel in. Roderick Wilson and Molly Hooper, as they planned on going by, were a couple on a romantic holiday in which it was planned for Sherlock to propose in the case the criminal they were hunting attempted to kill them in public. Molly, fortunately, had no idea that Sherlock had planned this as a backup in case they were in too much danger; she could probably jeopardise it by acting unrealistic or getting scared that they were in danger.

Unfortunately, in Molly's opinion, Sherlock was stuck in a car for hours while Molly drove; a feat she was unable to back out of. Again, they were going to be posing as a couple, a thing Molly used to only fantasies about until Sherlock's name was disgraced by Moriarty. He used to take her on undercover missions when he needed a girlfriend or wife to accompany him. She had two rings on her bedside table; one was for when they were engaged or Sherlock would propose, and the other for when they were honeymooning or just married. Molly wasn't always sure that Sherlock needed a woman to accompany him but nonetheless, she went along with his crazy schemes.

"One hundred and fifty five thousand, nine hundred and ninety nine bottles of beer on the wall-" Sherlock was muttering before Molly cut him off.

"If you don't stop singing that right now, I'm turning the car around and going home."

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed together and a small pout formed on his lips. He had just about given up before…

A hand slid onto Molly's thigh, causing her to jump a little bit. Sherlock leaned towards her, his lips brushing across the side of her face. "You wouldn't turn around now. You know how much I need to do this and how much more I need you with me for this. We're going to the city of lurrrrrve and I can't be alone in Paris, especially for a romantic holiday."

He held back a smile as he saw her cheeks turn a deep red.

"Get off me," she told him weakly, her voice shaking as she talked.

"My apologies," he whispered before sliding away from her and sitting back in his seat.

Her entire face was a deep red, meaning she was either going to explode with fury or she was very embarrassed and feeling extraordinarily shy.

"It's never a good idea to try and seduce someone while they're driving," she told him, her voice still not recovering from the incident.

Sherlock smirked. _'I didn't even try.'_ He bit his lip to supress a smile and shriek of joy at his ploy of keeping her with him. "You take one down and pass it around, one hundred and fifty five thousand, nine hundred and ninety eight bottles of beer on the wall."

~oOo~

By the end of the drive, Molly wanted to jump of the Eiffel Tower, despite the knowledge that it would be very painful and felt it would be rather pathetic; the fall alone would be rather uninteresting.

"That wasn't too hard, was it?" Sherlock asked as they pulled up outside the address Sherlock had demanded. Molly's silence only reassured Sherlock that she had as much of an enjoyable time as he did.

Molly looked up at the building they had pulled up at and frowned. "I can't afford to even step foot in there," she told Sherlock who chuckled.

"Oh, dear Molly, the British Government is paying for it out of his own pocket. Thanks, Mycroft," Sherlock told her and pulled out a credit card with _Mycroft Holmes_ printed on it.

"Well, it was nice knowing you," she muttered and pulled into a car park.

Sherlock smirked and exited the car. He grabbed the bags out of the boot and waited for Molly who grabbed her handbag and locked the car.

~oOo~

They walked into the large room and Molly's jaw dropped. It was stunning! It was a rich, chocolate colour that spread across the room and enveloped her. It even smelt like chocolate! There were red roses decorating the room and the king sized bed had a thin layer of red rose petals.

"Oh my goodness!" Molly exclaimed as she took in the room.

"Alright, ten minutes and then we have to do some touristy stuff." Sherlock walked out of the door way and out his bags down at the end of the bed.

"It's stunning!"

Sherlock looked at Molly and shrugged, pulling a face as he did so. "It's alright. The view is MUCH better, though. I know you love to look at the view." He walked towards the large curtain on the side wall and swished it open.

Molly walked towards him, unable to comprehend what was going on. The view was amazing, absolutely beautiful. They were much higher than she had realised and she felt as though she could see all of Paris. She looked over at Sherlock, a grin spreading across her face.

"Oh, Sherlock. Thank you so much," she wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Yes, well, keeping up appearances, Molly," he put an arm around her shoulders before subtly checking the time. "Speaking of which, we should head off now."

~oOo~

While she and Sherlock walked around Paris (stalking a criminal, not that Molly knew), Molly wondered what a relationship with Sherlock would be like. It was certainly not to be like the few adventures they had gone on and this was to be somewhat of a case too. She couldn't help but feel that she would never really know and one day he'd meet someone, they'd get married, and she'd probably be alone in a flat with a few hundred cats.

Sherlock, on the other hand, had lost the criminal after Molly begged to go up the Eiffel Tower. He had tried to hint that they shouldn't but she didn't pick up on his hints. Now, they were wandering around Paris almost aimlessly, trying to find the criminal that was terrorising the British Government… or Mycroft, Sherlock was unsure.

He didn't want Molly to feel bad, however. He had dragged her here and he'd be damned if she felt bad on this trip. Of course it wouldn't go as she would like, he knew that, but he needed an accomplice to come with him. She knew that he was going to be hunting a criminal but she didn't know any of the details… such as the criminal was a woman. Sherlock couldn't risk Molly knowing about everything, she'd try and keep an eye out for them and it would probably go rather chaotically.

~oOo~

Dinner had been a disaster. Sherlock had tracked the criminal to the restaurant, so he had to eat there with Molly. Things had gone from good to bad quickly. People, i.e. the criminal, had recognised him and pointed him out to her accomplices.

Things went from bad to worse when, as they were about to order dessert, the criminal spiked Molly's drink. After making a quick switch, Sherlock realised this wasn't going to end and they needed to get out before that woman killed either of them. He had to pull out the big guns and his own accomplices were forced to jump in and make the spur of the moment proposal looked entirely planned.

Molly Hooper was now engaged to Roderick Wilson and they hadn't even been in Paris for 24 hours. There was no way Sherlock could use the proposal again to get out of danger now and they were no closer to getting the woman locked up.

"Yes, I'm positive. I had to use the last resort and now, well, we're in trouble, Mycroft. Call whomever you have to and get her in jail," Sherlock muttered into a phone, trying to not let Molly hear him. She was lying in bed reading a book, the ring on the bedside table and a small frown on her face. Oh she could hear every word. Sherlock wasn't that subtle. "Excellent." Sherlock hung up the phone and turned to face Molly.

"What was the last resort?" she asked as she turned the page.

"Nothing important, don't worry."

Molly shook her head, her eyes still glued on the book. "Oh, but Sherlock, I do worry about you."

He rolled his eyes and walked into the bathroom.

~oOo~

Molly lay on her side; she couldn't sleep. She faced towards the balcony, wondering if it would be alright for her to step out for a few moments.

Sherlock was on his side as well, facing a wall. He too couldn't sleep and was wondering if Mycroft had caught that criminal who tried to assassinate him several times at dinner. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the sliding door opening and a few seconds later, closing. He rolled over and placed an arm over Molly.

He was filled with horror and fear as he grabbed nothing but air. The criminal hadn't been caught and she had just stolen Molly. Sherlock rushed to the sliding door and opened it, staring at the almost empty balcony.

It was small and had a chair and table on it. The barrier that stood at the end of the building was made of glass and leaning against it was a small woman. Sherlock let out a sigh of relief.

"Molly, I thought they had gotten you." She turned around and frowned at Sherlock.

"I wouldn't go without a fight. I'd let you know, of course, you silly goose," Molly teased.

Her face began to light up bright red as she realised he was wearing next to nothing. In fact, he was only wearing his pants, a shocking discovery that caused Molly to avert her eyes from him. She turned around and stared out at the scenery.

Sherlock smirked at Molly and walked over to her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. "I couldn't have done this without you. Mycroft is, apparently, getting his men here to deal with the criminal we were stalking."

"I still don't know what I actually did. I lost them at the Eiffel Tower." She couldn't deny that she enjoyed his touch and she didn't want to break it anytime soon.

"She was trying to kill us at dinner. She tried too often that I had to propose. That was the last resort. I didn't want to have to draw attention but that woman could have gotten either of us. I thought she had gotten you and I would never forgive myself if she had you, if she hurt you."

Molly turned around in Sherlock's arms and looked into his eyes. "We should get some sleep. I assume we're going home tomorrow?"

Sherlock shrugged. "No rush. You took the week off, didn't you? Let's travel. Just you and I. No criminals."

"I- I can't. I have to go home and cater to Toby. He's probably already angry that he can't get into the flat tonight," she told him, looking over his shoulder.

He sighed and nodded in resignation. "Right. Well, come on then." Sherlock took Molly's hand and guided her back inside.

~oOo~

Molly woke up feeling rather refreshed the next morning. After the conversation with Sherlock last night, she was feeling a little better. Waking up in his arms, her cheek on his bare chest, however, gave her butterflies whenever she thought about it.

She loved helping Sherlock solve his crimes, especially when it ended like this.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Tomorrow is 'In Formal Wear'.**


	20. Day 19: In Formal Wear

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't need you," Sherlock whispered to Molly as they stood in the lab, keeping an ear out for the sound of someone coming towards their hiding place.

"I know. I just- it's not my scene." She looked away from Sherlock who frowned.

"Please. I really need you, Molly. I need you to be with me. I can't do this alone," Sherlock put his hands on her hips and bit his lip.

Molly took a deep breath in and closed her eyes. "S-Sherlock… alright, sure."

"Excellent." He dropped his hands from her and took a few steps back, fishing his phone from his pocket. "I'll see you tomorrow at five. You should go buy a dress and get me a matching tie or something."

And with that, Sherlock Holmes stalked out of the lab and snuck out of London as secretly as he had come.

~oOo~

The ballroom was vast, hundreds of couples waltzing around the room. There were about a hundred tables set up at the back of the room and the bar behind those.

Together, Molly and Sherlock walked into the ballroom, a huge smile plastered on Molly's face and a small frown on Sherlock's. Molly wore a flowing yellow dress that licked the ground with each step she took and Sherlock wore a black suit and a yellow tie to match Molly's dress.

"Darling, relax. I know you've been stressed lately, but you need to calm down. At least just for tonight," Molly muttered to Sherlock, rubbing his lower back as she did so.

Sherlock looked down at her and nodded before kissing the top of her head. "Alright, come on, Cinnamon."

He slipped his arm around her waist and guided her in. They walked towards the dance floor and stood in the position they had practiced for days.

"You can do this, we've been over this many times and you've done wonderfully," Sherlock told her and smiled sweetly before rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand.

The music started and they began to dance together, Molly's dress sweeping across the ground as they moved in harmony. Her eyes were glued at their feet for the first few minutes but she moved her eyes up the suit Sherlock wore and rested on his gorgeous eyes.

"I told you," he smiled.

"Thanks, sweetie." Sherlock missed the adoration in her eyes and the sincerity of her words.

Sherlock forced back a grimace at her words. He despised 'sweetie' with a passion, a name his mother was keen on using for the first few years of his life.

Once the song ended, they moved towards the bar.

"Fredrick! Over here!" someone called from behind them.

Sherlock spun around to face the person and nodded in recognition. The man who had made this all possible, the man Sherlock had to lie to for months on end just to get in, knowing that the last piece of the puzzle was going to attend. Sherlock took Molly and walked her over to the table where a man and a woman sat alone.

"Rodger, Martha, how are you two?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, everything's been going well. I see you met someone?" Rodger said as Martha sipped on water.

'_Pregnant, that's what's been going well,'_ Sherlock deduced. "Indeed, Rodger, Martha, this is my girlfriend, Molly. Molly, this is Rodger and Martha."

"It's nice to meet you both," Molly said while smiling at the duo.

"You look absolutely stunning! You must tell me where you bought that dress!" Martha gasped out.

"Oh, er, thank you! I bought in online," Molly smiled nervously before looking up at Sherlock who smiled down at her and squeezed her hand.

"Fredrick, I must show you the most exquisite thing," Rodger stood up and walked Sherlock out of the presence of Molly and Martha.

Molly sat down with the woman and smiled. "So, how did you and Rodger meet Fredrick?"

"We met Fredrick at our wedding a few months back. He was my sister's date and Rodger and Fredrick just suddenly became rather good friends. They've met up a few times over the last few months." Martha smiled at Molly and took another sip of water.

Sherlock and Rodger came back to the relief of Molly and Martha.

"Well, sorry to be a buzz kill, Molly and I better be off. We both have work tomorrow and need to rest up," Sherlock announced to the three of them and Molly nodded.

"Indeed. It was great to meet you two, I hope we meet again soon," she lied before standing up and walking to Sherlock.

"Of course! We must catch up soon," Martha said and stood up as well.

~oOo~

Molly and Sherlock returned to the hotel they were staying at that night.

"Did you find out who was the criminal in the situation?" Molly asked as she removed her jewellery, placing it in a small bag.

"Yes. He was under my nose the whole time; I just needed something to get him. Got him."

"RODGER?!" Molly's jaw dropped.

"Yes. Unfortunately, his wife is pregnant as well." She dropped her earring on the ground, her hands going to her mouth.

"Seriously?! Oh my God! That's horrible!"

Sherlock nodded and sat down on the bed. "It's been going on for years. He showed me the first of his robberies, the diamond of King Reginald the third of a small European country you probably wouldn't have heard of."

Molly ran her fingers through her hair. "Wow. Was Martha in on it all?"

"Yes. She'll probably be arrested unless she plays the _'I'm pregnant_' card which I think she probably will. Heads up, can't play the pregnancy card unless you are pregnant."

Molly wasn't particularly interested on how they'd attempt to get off. Mycroft will be trying to get them in jail and-

"You were at their wedding… you were friends. What happened? When did you know?"

"I became their friends so as to bust them. I had sources." Sherlock took his jacket off and hung it up.

Molly took the hint to stop talking about it and she picked up her earring.

"That would be so weird, I think."

"What? Having sources? No, it's convenient."

Molly rolled her eyes and removed her other earring. "No, thinking you had a friend and they put you in jail. Also, the only reason they were your friend in the first place was to put you in jail. I think that would be weird."

Sherlock shrugged and looked over at Molly. "You don't know me. Maybe _I'm _trying to bust you of a crime." Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her and she smiled.

"I think you'd have realised by now I have nothing to hide. You can read me like a book and you know that I'm not a psychopath." Sherlock smiled back at her and began to tug at his tie. "I had a good night, by the way. Thank you."

Sherlock chuckled, his eyes glued on his tie that he was having difficulty removing.

"Not a problem. I hoped you'd have fun. Those dance lessons really payed off. I taught you well."

She walked over to Sherlock and pushed his hands away from his tie. "You've completely knotted it," she told him before starting to undo it, her fingers moving quickly.

"I knew that," he muttered in defence. "I was trying to fix it."

Molly smirked and unknotted the tie. She pulled on the material that hung around his neck, causing him to dip a bit. "Oh. Sorry." Her smirk quickly fell as her face began to heat up.

"Not a problem." He leaned down and captured her lips with his own.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Tomorrow's prompt: 'dancing' *giggles***


	21. Day 20: Dancing

A brief nodded was her indication for Molly to put her left hand on his right shoulder and to hold his left hand with her right. Sherlock placed his hand on her waist and smiled at Molly.

"Well, no-one's injured yet. It's a good start," he smirked at her and pressed play on the music. One two three, one two three, one two three, one- "Ouch," Sherlock winced, stepping back from Molly and groaned. "Feet, Molly, watch the feet!"

"Oh, sorry, Sherlock!" her hands flew to her mouth and she stumbled backwards.

With a sigh, Sherlock said "don't stress, Molly. Let's try again, I didn't realise how little you knew."

She nodded and stepped forth again to resume the original position they were in.

"Follow my steps, look down at my feet or otherwise, you're in trouble… with the dance, I'm not going to get angry at you."

"You just did."

"No, I was angry at myself for not finding out how poor a dancer you are." He rolled his eyes at her and gave her a pointed look. "Now, watch. My. Feet." She looked down, Sherlock looking straight ahead. "One two three, one two three, one two three, one two three… See, you're getting it."

Molly beamed before looking up at Sherlock who locked eyes with her. They continued to dance around the room, a smile on both of their faces, their eyes not breaking contact. The song ended, the duo still spinning around the room.

"I-oh. It's over." Sherlock froze, Molly stepping on his foot.

"Yes. Yes, you're right." He sprung apart from her and scratched the back of his neck. "Sorry. I- hmm, I think you're set. Just practice occasionally, I suppose."

He walked away and sank into his armchair before pressing his index fingers to his temples. Molly frowned and looked at the man in the chair.

"Uh, Sherlock? Are you alright?" Molly chuckled nervously before biting her lip.

His head snapped up at Molly. "Oh, you're still here. I thought you had left." He frowned before standing up and taking a step backwards.

"What's wrong?" Molly took a step towards him, Sherlock taking a step back.

"Hmm, er, yes, uh…" Sherlock stumbled over his words, his face flushing red. "No, no I don't think so, I think I should…"

Molly took a few paces forward when he seemed distracted. She placed a hand on his arm and his eyes shot to her hand. "Sherlock?"

He paused and inhaled deeply before letting it out as a sigh. "You should leave, it's not right."

"Right? What are you-" he cut her off, his lips pressed against hers.

They pulled away after a few seconds and the corner of Sherlock's lips turned upright a bit. "Well, that takes my mind of things a bit. Anyway, don't you have work to get to?" he asked. Molly stared at him, her jaw dropped a fraction. He didn't notice, however as he walked over to John's laptop and sat down at the chair. "Off you pop," Sherlock concluded and Molly woke up from her daze.

"Er, yes, right."

And with that, she snatched her bag and jacket from the lounge and hurried out of 221B.

* * *

***Cringe* don't think I really like that one…**

**Like day 10, I think I'm going to do another prompt. Feel free to leave prompts for me in a review or a private message. Today's prompt is 4:14am. Thanks to first50 dot wordpress dot com.**

* * *

Something was wrong at Baker Street. Sherlock was not in his bed and John was tossing and turning all night. Sherlock has been missing since six that night. He had sent a message saying _'all is well, don't worry. Be back at 221B tomorrow morning –SH'_ but John was unconvinced.

He had asked Lestrade whose eyebrows furrowed together and his lips turned down. He then replied with "Sherlock sent me a message to tell you that everything's ok and he'll be back tomorrow morning. Is there something else going on?"

John had no idea what was going on but he was worried about it and worried as to what was going on. It was only 4:14am and John was worried as to what time Sherlock was going to come home this morning. Was he going to lecture Sherlock about staying out all night and not telling him when he was coming home? Sherlock was an adult and he was his own responsibility but John couldn't help but feel something was happening and that something wasn't good.

* * *

At ten forty five pm, there was a knock at Molly Hooper's door. She had been cuddling Toby and was covered in cat fur. Nonetheless, she opened the door to see a bloody Sherlock Holmes standing in front of her. He had a few cuts on his face and there was bloody staining his shit.

"Not mine," he croaked out and stumbled into her flat.

"What happened?" she asked frantically as she led him to her couch.

"You'll see tomorrow when you go to the morgue. He attacked me on the way here and I had to fight my way out." Molly rushed out of the room, leaving Sherlock lying on the couch.

She came back and began to dab away at the gashes on his face.

"You look terrible," she told him as she wiped away blood.

"Yes, I suppose I do. At least you're here to help me out."

Once his face was clean, Molly forced him up and walked him to the bathroom. She attended to his injuries and bruises on his limbs and torso. "There you go, you're fine."

It was midnight by the time Sherlock was in a better condition. He checked his phone to see frantic texts from Lestrade and John, messages that could wait until another time. Molly offered to call a cab for Sherlock but he shook his head, telling her he refused to get in a cab alone since a Study in Pink, as John had called it.

* * *

At 4:14am, John tossed and turned, trying to get to sleep peacefully but unable to. Molly was lying in her bed, Sherlock with her. The duo slept with their arms around the other person and Molly's cheek pressed against Sherlock's bare chest.

Sherlock wouldn't imagine the chaos that he would endure when he came back to 221B the next morning and Molly wouldn't linger of the fact that Sherlock was attacked when coming to her flat with no reason of being there.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Tomorrow's prompt is: cooking/baking**


	22. Day 21: Cooking or Baking

When John entered the morgue on March the 31th, Molly and Sherlock were cooking something up, something that both caught his curiosity and repelled him. He didn't particularly want to know what on earth they were conspiring about, but he didn't think it would be good. They stood together, leaning over a table and pointing at something on it, their voices hushed and John was unable to pick up their words. Molly looked up at Sherlock and furrowed her eyebrows, looking as though she was asking him something.

"Morning, you two… what are you planning over there?" Sherlock's eyes shot up at John and back at the table.

"Nothing important, John, we were just, uh, booking in some times for the lab and morgue. We were setting up some times that you and I could come in with no problems without a case and work without interrupting anyone. It was Mike Stanford's idea, clever chap."

John narrowed his eyes at the consulting detective who was currently covering the thing with paper and books to Molly's mixed feelings. He did NOT believe that for a second. Molly was always more than happy to have them work there and Sherlock had his own lab in their kitchen.

"Right."

"You don't believe me, do you?"

"Not at all, but let's pretend that I do believe you. What days have you booked in?"

Sherlock looked at Molly who pretended to shuffle through the papers. "Each Wednesday in April is reserved for now…" She looked up at Sherlock who nodded slightly, an action that did not go unobserved by John.

"John, I think I left my phone at that café." Sherlock looked back at the table, ignoring John's presence.

"No. I am _not _falling for that again. I'm not going to leave while you go chase someone down without me. I can never find you after." He began to walk towards the table and Sherlock looked back up at John.

"I won't leave, John. I need my phone; it can't be in someone else's hands. Why are you being so difficult?"

John frowned at his friend and threw his arms up in the air rather dramatically. "Fine, I'll play along with your little games but Sherlock, if I come back and you're not here-"

"Yes, yes, I know the usual threats, John. Please just get it?" Sherlock huffed at his friend while crossing his arms.

There was a moment of silence as the boys had a silent conversation, neither breaking eye contact.

"Fine," John gave up and turned around, leaving with a slam of the door, making Molly jump.

They cleared the papers away again and looked at the recipe.

"Are you sure this will work?" Sherlock asked and Molly chuckled.

"Of course. If he eats it, his mouth will burn and water will only make it worse. He'll definitely fall for it, you boys always ask for biscuits with your tea and Mrs Hudson always rummages through her kitchen for the two of you, trying to find something for you."

~oOo~

On April the 1st at 6:00am in Molly's flat, Sherlock and Molly began to pour ingredients into a large bowl.

"I'm eating some of the dough before we put the secret ingredient in," Molly told Sherlock with a small giggle.

There was a small pause as Sherlock looked at Molly. "Uh, right."

Her cheeks began to stain a light red. She decided to keep her mouth shut unless Sherlock asked her something.

~oOo~

Half an hour later, the duo were covered in ingredients (because Sherlock threw flour into the mixer as it was going so it spat it everywhere) and the biscuits were in the oven baking.

"I'm going to bathe. Just wait here." Molly left the kitchen and Sherlock felt as though he was being forced to clean up.

'_Not while my hair is in this state,'_ he thought before ruffling his hair, flour and sugar going all over the kitchen.

When Molly emerged half an hour later, Sherlock had not only cleaned her kitchen, but also organised everything. EVERYTHING. Her jaw dropped and her eyes went wide.

"You cleaned!" she exclaimed, confused as to what was going on.

"Yep."

"You don't normally clean. The lab, I mean."

Sherlock shrugged at this accusation and walked towards Molly's bathroom.

~oOo~

John woke up at nine that morning and sank into his armchair, a good book in hand. Something was wrong. Sherlock wasn't snoring in his room as per usual and his coat and scarf was missing. He didn't have any texts and Sherlock left his phone in the kitchen.

A few minutes, Sherlock blundered into the flat, his coat askew and Mrs Hudson trailing after him with a tray of biscuits, tea cups and a teapot.

"Sherlock, just take a seat and have some tea," she coaxed.

He sunk into his armchair and looked up at John. Just dealt with a five. Mediocre and boring as all hell. And Mrs Hudson is trying to… drug us up with her biscuits." Sherlock sulked and curled up in a ball.

"I'm not drugging your biscuits. I just made a batch, John, to go with your tea and Sherlock is accusing me of drugging them." She shook her head at the detective.

"Actually, I wouldn't mind a biscuit and tea, Mrs Hudson." He looked up at her and smiled slightly.

"Of course, dear."

Molly walked into the flat, a small smile on her face and red cheeks.

"Good morning, everyone. Sherlock, you left your scarf at the morgue," she told him and walked over to him, holding out the scarf.

"Leave it on the table," he told her as Mrs Hudson handed John a cup of tea.

The room became silent as John bit into the biscuit, Sherlock and Molly biting their lips to avoid giggling or smiling madly at the blogger.

"These biscuits are really nice, Mrs Hudson," John said as he took another bite.

The faces of Molly and Sherlock fell. What was going on?

"Thank you, John, it's an old family recipe."

Sherlock looked over at Molly, shock and confusion written all over his face. She looked back just as confused. _'What on earth?!_' he mouthed at her and she shrugged.

"AH! OH MY GOD!" John yelled before reaching for the tea. Molly and Sherlock began to laugh loudly at the man whose face was turning red. He jumped up and ran to the kitchen, spitting into the bin and washing his mouth out with water to no avail. Molly and Sherlock were shrieking with glee as they saw their friend struggling to control the burning. "YOU TWO! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"

"April Fools!" Sherlock yelled out before collapsing in a fit of giggles.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Oh, Sherlock! Tomorrow's prompt is: 'in battle side by side'... i wonder where I'm gonna go with that...**


	23. Day 22: In Battle Side by Side

**Spoilers, sweetie!**

**SEASON 3 EPISODE 1 SPOILER! ANDERSONS FIRST THEORY OF HOW SHERLOCK SURVIVES!**

**You've been warned.**

* * *

With a yawn, Molly walked into the lab. She'd had a long day and it wasn't over yet. She walked to the door and-

"You're wrong, you know." Molly gasped and spun around to see Sherlock standing there. "You do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you. But you were right. I'm not okay."

"Tell me what's wrong," Molly demanded. Something was happening and she'd be damned if she didn't help.

He began to slowly walk towards her, her mouth drying as he did so. "Molly, I think I'm going to die."

"What do you need?"

"If I wasn't everything that you think I am – everything that I think I am – would you still want to help me?"

He stopped close to her as she gazed up at him. "What do you need?" she asked a second time before Sherlock took a step closer.

"You."

"Explain. What's happening and what do you need me to do?"

Sherlock sighed and nodded slightly. "It's Moriarty. I've started to contact some… colleagues. I have a plan and I need you to help me, it's of the utmost importance."

~oOo~

Sherlock stood on top of the roof and was watching John. "It's a trick. Just a magic trick."

"No. All right, stop it now," John told him before starting to walk towards the hospital.

"No, stay exactly where you are," Sherlock demanded and John backed up quickly. "Don't move."

The concerned look on John's face told Sherlock he was doing the right thing.

"All right."

"Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?"

"Do what?"

"This phone call – it's ... it's my note."

Two men grabbed Moriarty's body, just like planned, and took him towards the door. Sherlock heard them walking and hoped the rest of the plan worked.

"It's what people do, don't they? Leave a note?"

"Leave a note when?"

"Goodbye, John."

"No. Don't."

At this precise moment, Molly and Sherlock knew that Moriarty would be in the elevator with contact lenses being applied.

Sherlock dropped his phone behind him and stared at the sky. This would be one of the last times he was going to see the London landscape as Sherlock Holmes and with a destroyed name.

"Sherlock!"

Jim now had blue eyes and the mask Molly made was being fitted. One of the men took a scalpel and the other began to apply a dark curly wig.

Sherlock spread his arms. He was going to be free… or as free as a fugitive can be who the entire world thinks is dead. The next time people saw him as Sherlock Holmes, his name would be restored. As Sherlock began his fall, a man on a bicycle knocked John to the ground. He missed the bungee cord. He missed seeing the was Sherlock was going to live and how Sherlock was not going to be dead, not today. Molly bit her lip as he fell past, the bungee cord trailing behind him. His heart stopped for a second. His nose almost grazed the pavement. He released his breath and prepared for the next part of the fall.

WOOSH!

He was yanked up again, back into Molly's sight. She gasped and backed away as he hurdled towards her direction. The glass smashed and he stood there, alive, absolutely alive.

After a (VERY attractive and rather sexy) ruffle of his hair, he marched towards Molly an unfamiliar glint in his eyes...

He took her head in his hands and captured her lips with his. As Molly began to react, he pulled away and winked at her before exiting the room. Molly held back a beam, a young, girl smile taking over instead. But it wasn't over yet.

Moriarty, or Sherlock as he appeared, was being dragged to the place Sherlock would have landed, fake blood being poured around him onto the street. Sherlock's various employees were rushing over, dressed as medical staff and general passers-by.

John had just recovered and was standing up to approach when a man with a fur-lined hooded jacket approached him.

"John," the man said. He put his hand on John's shoulder and said "John. Look at me. Look at me."

John did so and looked at the man. D-Derren Brown?! What-

Derren's fingers were on John's face as he exclaimed "and sleep!" John collapsed into Derren's arms as planned. "Right the way down, right the way deep, right the way sound asleep. That's right. That's good – keeping my voice just there in the centre of your head and floating all the way around you."

He adjusts the time on John's watch, turning it back a few minutes before straightening up and looking down on the man who lay on the ground.

"And you will awaken in three, two, one ..." John began to move, "... zero."

Derren flipped his hood up and walked briskly away, not wanting to draw John's attention. A crowd had continued to gather around the body and John stumbled to his feet and towards the body. He tried to push the crowd out of the way but some of them held him back.

"Let me come through, please. He's my friend," he begged.

His knees gave out as he half-collapsed, some bystanders supporting him. He let go of Sherlock's wrist before the paramedics arrived. They loaded the body onto a stretcher and wheeled it away.

~oOo~

Molly arrived home that night, guilt eating away at her. Mrs Hudson, Greg and John stood around his body, trying (and failing) not to cry over his body. How could she look at them without confessing the whole thing? She got out of there straight away, her boss understanding that she was feeling emotional.

She flicked the lights on to see a body on her couch. Before she could do anything, a hand raised and she heard. "Welcome home, Molly."

Why was Sherlock at her house? They didn't agree to that. He was supposed to go to Mycroft or get the hell out of London.

"Er, hello…?"

"Yes, I'm here because I wanted to thank you for helping me today."

"Oh. It wasn't a problem."

"You and I, we fought Moriarty and we won. We won, Molly. It was a battle to the death and we won." He smiled at her, something that didn't particularly put her at ease. She nodded at him and started to put her coat and purse down before Sherlock began to walk towards her.

She froze.

The movement was strange, out of place, different. But the strangeness continued. The strangeness escalated when suddenly his arms wrapped around her torso.

"Thank you," he whispered.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Tomorrow's prompt: arguing. **


	24. Day 23: Arguing

It wasn't every day that Sherlock had an argument with one of the people he cherishes the most. Sure, he wasn't particularly kind to Mrs Hudson _all_ the time, and he (apparently) never remembered Gavin Lestrade's name (see? He knows it) but he never argued with them enough to cause them to dislike him and not talk to him for days on end.

Molly, however, was an exception. _She is an exception_, Sherlock thought, as he did whenever his mind trailed to her, which was fairly regularly. Molly was different to everyone else. Molly was the most ordinary. John had a sociopath for a flatmate and Sherlock knew things about Mrs Hudson that would make John squirm in his seat, Geoff Lestrade hung about with idiots all day and worried immensely about Sherlock.

But Molly was different and ordinary with an ordinary job knowing ordinary people and living an ordinary life.

It was a calm and peaceful Thursday in March, except if you were in the police force or lived in London, or just generally in England. Sherlock Holmes was on a case and there was a mass murder by a secret man who no-one knew. The bodies were being rolled in to the morgue and Molly was very busy catering to every single demand of Sherlock Holmes. First he wanted one body and changed his mind as soon as it was ready.

She clenched her jaw, however, and took whatever Sherlock threw at her. There was no point arguing with him about this, he wasn't going to change anytime soon.

Lestrade, Donovan, John, Sherlock and Molly stood about in the morgue, trying to link the victims and trace the killer.

"DAMMIT, MOLLY! THAT'S NOT THE BODY I NEED! YOU ARE SO INCOMPETENT!" Sherlock snapped all of a sudden.

Tears welled in her eyes, as they did when faced with confrontation, especially involving Sherlock Holmes.

"FINE! DO IT YOURSELF!" she snapped back and stalked out of the morgue.

Silence hung about as the four people watched her back.

"You're such a prat," John muttered as he moved the body and tried to switch them.

Sherlock huffed at his blogger and hurried after Molly.

"Molly! You come back now, we need you!" he called out down an empty corridor, Molly standing at the other end.

"Sod off! I did my best, I tried to help and as always, you were ungrateful and rude about it! Did you think that maybe I'd like to be out right now? Did you think that I have a social life and friends? Maybe I don't want to be around dead bodies all day and maybe I don't want to be your servant!" she yelled back and crossed her arms.

"What social life? You don't have any friends! You should be grateful for all the people in the morgue right now! And anyway, someone will have to take over and all the staff are incompetent little prats who I can't stand ex- Molly?!"

Halfway through his little insult speech, she shook her head and walked away to the change rooms, leaving Bart's roughly two minutes and thirty seven seconds later. Sherlock had tried to follow her up the corridor and around the corner but gave up knowing London was in danger and John would be tapping his foot impatiently. Like the fool he is, he returned to the morgue and let Molly wallow in her own self-pity.

When another staff member came to look over them, Sherlock realised he need Molly and tried to call her to come back.

'_Hello, you've reached Molly Hooper. I'm not available at the moment, please leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as possible.'_

"Did you get a hold of her?" John asked as Sherlock walked back into the morgue for the second time.

"Voicemail."

"Did you leave a message?"

"Saw no point."

John took a deep breath in as he rolled his eyes before shaking his head, folding his arms in the process. "What on earth did you say to that poor woman?"

After Sherlock repeated the short conversation, John pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.

"I don't really know what I did wrong, I just told her the truth," Sherlock grumbled as he walked back to the body and shooed away the staff member and Donovan as though they were flies.

* * *

Her phone was on silent as soon as she left Bart's and as soon as she got home, the dam walls broke. She collapsed onto the ground in a fit of tears and sobs, her back pressed against the locked door.

* * *

Cats aren't very appreciative of human emotion, nor do they care about it either, just like Sherlock Holmes. Toby was sitting on the kitchen bench, listening to the devastated howling sobs that came from his owner who was slumped over at the door. He looked towards her. Excellent, his pet human was home. He glanced over to the food bowl and stood up, stretching as he did so. With a pounce, he jumped down from the bench and trotted over to his human.

She took another strangled breath that caused her sobs to shake as more tears fell down her face. His intentions were confused as he rubbed his side against her, meowing in the process.

"Oh, Toby," she managed to say before pulling him into her arms and crying into his fur.

Being the kind cat that he is, he let her cry on his fur, knowing he'd probably get extra food for being nice to his human. _An excellent scheme_, he decided.

* * *

"She's not coming back to work when this case is on and you're constantly here." John flipped the page of the newspaper and reminded his colleague of how much of an arse he is.

They were in the morgue again, John sitting on a bench and Sherlock slumped over a body, examining the wounds. Lestrade had taken Anderson and Donovan, his pet monkeys, out to investigate some leads Sherlock threw to them.

John received no comment to his statement from the detective.

"Really? Ignoring me now? How childish… no wonder Molly doesn't want to be here. She's got bills to pay, Sherlock. If you weren't so much of a pest, she could be working to keep herself alive."

"She works Christmas when needed, I don't think one week is going to make a huge difference."

John laughed at his friends words. "No, you don't understand, she's not going to come when you call, she's not going to work when you'll be here and she'll get someone to alert her when we walk in and someone to take over. She'll avoid you at all costs. And besides, people work on Christmas for two main reasons: for money and so they're not alone."

"No she won't, she loves us. She'll come when I ask." Sherlock completely ignored John's decision on people who worked at Christmas.

John put the paper down to look at his friend, his mouth open. "She's not daft. She doesn't worship the ground you walk on. This could be the day she realises you aren't all that and will take radical action to get away from you. You can't click your fingers and have the world rush to your feet. You're not the Queen of England," he explained to his socially inept friend.

"You're right, I'm not the Queen of England and people won't just do as I say. That's my brother, Mycroft. You were close, though, we share similar genes."

John shook his head. "Apologise to Molly and MAYBE she'll forgive you and MAYBE your time at the morgue will be easier to stand."

Sherlock made a face at that suggestion.

"Sod off."

* * *

**A/N:**

**Tomorrow's prompt: making up (continuation of this)**


	25. Day 24: Making Up

At exactly 9:45 on Friday, three weeks after Sherlock's argument with her, Molly Hooper entered the morgue, a frown on her face. She hadn't been at work for three weeks and, as you could imagine, she couldn't particularly afford the luxury of food at that time. Toby was on half rations.

Sitting on the bench was not what she expected to see her first day back after a short hiatus. A single red rose with a note attached caught her eye, her frown elongating. She plucked it from the bench and turned the note over.

_Molly Hooper,_

_Meet me at 9pm this Saturday at the Westington._

_The reservation is under your name; you can't know who I am yet._

_Until then,_

_Your Secret Admirer_

_xx_

Her heart stopped for a second. A secret admirer? Who could it be? It wasn't Sherlock, thank goodness. It wasn't his handwriting, he wasn't luring her into a joke.

She wouldn't turn up to see no-one there and sit for ages until she decides she's been stood up. She wouldn't see Sherlock standing across the road, laughing his head off as he watched her feeling sorry for herself. She wouldn't have to hang her head as she walked away, he wouldn't have to see her cry. Not that night, because it wasn't Sherlock bloody Holmes.

She hadn't been on a date for a while and she was rather excited. As soon as her shift ended, she went home to look for what she could wear; Saturday was only a sleep away.

~oOo~

Molly arrived at the Westington with high spirits. Sherlock was skittering around her mind to her displeasure. She would be so annoyed if he was messing with her. She wasn't sure how she'd take this, another blow to her already low self-esteem.

She entered the elegant restaurant and was approached by a large man straight away.

"Good evening madam, do you have a reservation?" he asked, a slight French accent to his words.

"Er, yes. Molly Hooper," she told him, biting her lip. Was this really happening?

"Right this way, madam," he said and she followed behind him as he walked to the back of the restaurant and sat her at the only free two person table before handing her a menu.

He sauntered off and Molly glimpsed into the menu. Oh God. The prices here were high. She couldn't afford to eat here and she didn't want someone else to pay for such a hefty bill.

A few moments passed before-

"Well, well, well. Molly Hooper, fancy seeing you here," a familiar voice said, Molly snapping to attention straight away and looked to the owner of the deep voice. Oh no.

"Sherlock? What are you doing here?"

"Dinner," he replied as he took a seat in the chair opposite.

"Y-you can't sit there, it's reser- oh god. It's you, isn't it?" she bit back tears and slid her chair back, about to stand. "You spoil everything."

"Wait. I only need a few minutes of your time and then you can go, I promise. Just listen to me, please." He looked at her, big puppy dog eyes that always melted her heart and let him stomp all over her.

With a sigh, she replied with "fine. You've got five minutes and then I'm out of here."

Sherlock nodded and began to proceed.

"First of all, I called your boss to arrange the rose. I had to know when you were next in. That's Anderson's handwriting, by the way. Er… what else, nope. I think I covered that section." Molly opened her mouth to protest and to question what he had just said but Sherlock blocked her by continuing.

"Secondly, there was going to be more people than just us two today… I couldn't get the others to come. No, you have to listen, this is all relevant." Her lips pursed together and she closed her eyes for a second. She was livid but she didn't know what to do or what to say, not that Sherlock would give her a chance to talk anyway.

_Sherlock had copied all her contacts on her phone. All her friends, he called one at a time._

"_Yes, hello, my name is Sherlock Holmes and I'm calling in regards to Molly Hooper." He was lucky to get that far. Most people hung up after his name and the rest gave him a piece of their minds while he sat there with a laughing John who kept saying it was all Sherlock's fault._

"_Well I don't know what to do _now._ The plan was to say she had many friends who love her and she has a great social life."_

"_Not my division," John grumbled, imitating Gavin, as he picked up a cup of tea and smirked at Sherlock._

"Your friends have more dignity than to associate with Sherlock Holmes, it appears. You have many friends who love you and don't want you to be hurt by me, it seems.

"Third, when I said you should be grateful for all the people in the morgue at that time…"

"_What social life? You don't have any friends! You should be grateful for all the people in the morgue right now! And anyway, someone will have to take over and the rest of the staff are incompetent little- Molly?!"_

_Those people in the morgue were John and Lestrade. Donovan didn't count._

"…we were lucky to have you, not the other way round. Molly Hooper, we would be lost without you. I don't think you can begin to comprehend how much of an asset you are and how important you are to me and to society in whole. You are one of the most important women I have ever met and you don't even know.

"Molly, I beg you to please forgive my horrendous words and actions. They were clumsy, ill-thought and shouldn't have been said or done. I am really, very sorry."

Molly's jaw dropped a fraction. Had Sherlock just apologised sincerely? Had he really attempted to do something nice?

_She sat in her flat watching a re-run of _Glee_, a huge smile on her face. There was a knock on her door, something that was rarely done but nonetheless plausible._

'Don't be Sherlock, don't be _Sherlock_!' _she thought as she approached her door._

"_Molly, you would NOT believe the day I've had!" the woman exclaimed when Molly opened the door._

_Standing before her was the one and only Jessica, a lady she's become rather good friends with when she collected her mail a few times. Jessica lives in the building as well, two floors above Molly._

"_Jessica, please come in."_

_The lady spilled about the day, telling Molly everything about her day. "Oh, and then I get a call from Sherlock Holmes who expected me to talk to him. Of course, I told him where he can put his phone call and I told him exactly what I thought of him and how he treats you, the bloody man thinks he can walk all over you and not get in trouble for it. What a bloody fool."_

"Y-you're sorry?" Molly asked after a short pause.

"Yes," he replied, biting his tongue. _'Do I have to repeat myself?'_ he thought, knowing it best to not sarcastically remark.

"Oh. Well-"

"I best be off, no idea how John's going to be feeling right now, how can he survive about me?" Sherlock stood up and gave Molly a short sharp nod before placing down a hundred pound bill and striding out of the restaurant.

Dinner was on Sherlock, tonight.

~oOo~

"Oh, Molly, hello dear, what can I do for you?" Mrs Hudson greeted.

"Er, hello, I'm here to see Sherlock, is he in?"

Sherlock rushed down his stairs and looked at Mrs Hudson.

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson, I'll take it from here." The lady nodded and smiled at Molly before walking away, leaving the two to talk. "Molly, here." Sherlock took his hand away from behind his back revealing a large bouquet of white roses which he thrust towards Molly.

Molly's jaw dropped as she looked at the flowers. She looked up at Sherlock and saw sincerity in his eyes. With a split second decision…

She kissed him.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Tomorrow's prompt: Gazing into Each Other's Eyes.**


	26. Day 25: Gazing Into Each Other's Eyes

Of course, Sherlock had caught Molly staring at him when they were at the morgue together or when they were in the lab. There was something in her eyes that made Sherlock feel rather uncomfortable, a look he had never seen before and a look he never wanted in his own eyes. It was a look John typically gave his girlfriend after they'd been together for a few weeks, right before the breakup, not always Sherlock's fault.

This time was different, however. Sherlock hadn't caught Molly staring at him, Molly caught Sherlock staring at her. She thought there was a gleam in his eyes, a gleam that brought butterflies swirling in her stomach, a look no-one had given her before. Was it admiration? Was Sherlock Holmes gazing at her? Stare was a harsh word. It was very straight and blunt. It had the negative connotations with it as well and was a well-used word with mothers of young children.

"Don't stare!" mothers said as their child openly gawped at someone on the street. "Don't stare!"

Molly had heard that a lot, from both her mother and from the little voice that lived in her head that dictated her actions, her conscious.

"Don't stare!" it shouted whenever she realised her eyes were glued on Sherlock. It was too late, however, the damage was done. He'd look up at her and make eye contact before looking away again.

Little Molly Hooper was captured by Sherlock's eyes. She gazed into his as he appeared to be gazing back. It was a moment that made Molly feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. He narrowed his eyebrows a little and his head dipped a fraction. A slight smile formed on his face and Molly bit her lip.

Well this was certainly unusual. She felt her face blushing as she smiled slightly. Sherlock had beautiful eyes. She was definitely more than happy to gaze into those eyes forever. They were such a beautiful shade as well. If Sherlock ever had children (Molly felt sympathy for this false woman), Molly hoped they'd have the same colour eyes as him. And his hair. She loved his hair. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair all day. Probably while staring into his gorgeous eyes. She hadn't quite decided yet.

Sherlock's eyes still hadn't left her. She started to get a little worried. Why was Sherlock staring at Molly and in such a public place too? John could walk in at any moment...or Greg for that matter. How embarrassing would it be if either of them walked in now? Their eyes are trained on each other, neither looking away, not even for a moment. Sherlock's phone chimed but his attention never wavered, stuck on Molly. That was unusual of him. Normally, Sherlock would drop practically everything to see who texted him and what was happening,

'_Is he really staring at me though?' _Molly thought after seeing the lack of reaction from Sherlock Holmes. _'Maybe he's in his mind palace and is staring into the abyss which just happens to be my eyes…'_

She began to ponder over this while Sherlock continued to gaze into her eyes.

"Shut up," he muttered out of the blue.

He hated when anyone thought whilst around him. Rather ironic as well, especially because he's always telling people to actually think and to look.

* * *

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul… or something like that. Sherlock wasn't sure he believed this, mainly because no-one would actually tell him who _they _were and he had never had a chance to stare into someone's eyes and deduce about them. People were uncomfortable making eye contact with him, a thing he was rather proud of, not that he would ever admit that.

Molly Hooper had beautiful eyes. If the eyes were really the windows to the soul, Molly had a stunning soul, a soul that was stroked with sadness. Sherlock had decided that her eyes must be locked away in the mind palace. He wasn't sure where he'd put them. In the file of beautiful things he wanted to see every day? Would her eyes fit into the file of all things wonderful? How about the file of perfection? Her eyes could not simply go in the file of eyes. It would not do. Hers were too precious for that file. Perhaps at the tip of his tongue, the thing he always forgot but as soon as he remembered, he was over the moon. Yes, that seemed the most reasonable. He loved to see the eyes of Molly Hooper.

Yes, she was ordinary and did ordinary things but there was something about her that was so extraordinary. Molly Hooper was extraordinary.

* * *

The door burst open from behind Sherlock causing the duo to jump.

"Ah! Molly! Are you still here?" Sherlock yelped before standing up. "I thought you had buggered off while I was in my mind palace."

He turned to face the door and saw John standing there. "It's a no go, I'm afraid. They're out on holiday all week and I know how much you enjoy breaking into flats. Here's your chance, Sherlock," John declared.

Sherlock nodded and swept up his coat and scarf into his arms before running out of the lab, leaving a hurt and confused Molly behind.

So they weren't having a cute little moment and- Molly turned her head, feeling tears well in her eyes. It was stupid that she should feel hurt. It was illogical. But yet, she did, no matter how much she tried to tell herself she shouldn't.

She supposed that it was a sign of sorts that even if Molly cared for Sherlock, even if Molly would die for Sherlock, he'd never feel the same way and it will always be something else.

Sherlock never did get around to telling her that he was storing her eyes on the tip of his tongue. He mostly didn't for the reason that saying that alone makes little to no sense. He did one day. He just casually remarked with "I've been captivated by your eyes for years. In fact, I've stored them in my mind palace. Unbeknown to me, you were there at the time. That's probably why the memory was so strong. Do you remember that day? At the lab? John broke me out of a trance of storing your eyes in my memory."

And of course, Molly would felt a little relief knowing that there was something behind that moment and then the internal battle of whether or not to kiss him began.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Tomorrow's prompt: 'Getting Married'.**

**My apologies for the late update. It's currently 9:00pm in Aus. I was working all day.**


	27. Day 26: Getting Married

**Wish me luck…**

**SPOILERS! SO SO MANY SPOILERS! SO MANY SEASON 3 SPOILERS! LIKE THE WHOLE ENTIRE SEASON! LEGIT!**

* * *

If you had asked Molly a week ago if she was going to be a bride at a wedding, she'd bite her lip and, while shaking her head, thin about the past relationships she's been in. A little scoff may have been thrown in, but Sherlock wasn't entirely sure, he wasn't particularly paying attention.

"No, Molly, you don't understand, I'm asking you if you'll marry me next week." Sherlock rolled his eyes and checked his phone.

"I don't really understand to be honest. Why are you asking me to marry you?" she asked and he looked up at her.

"Well, I need to get a criminal on my terms and I need him to be unprepared and not suspicious in the least. Who gets arrested at weddings? We'd have Scotland Yard there, we go through with the marriage, all fake, of course, and after that, we get food with our "friends" and the man gets arrested during."

Molly frowned at the curly haired man and crossed her arms. "You hate weddings. John's was a struggle to get through for you."

With a nod of his head, Sherlock took Molly's hand. "I really need you to do this. Please. Mycroft will organise everything, we'll hire some people to be involved, string our families into attending and pretend that we're all having a swell day."

"That's a really expensive way to arrest a man."

"Who brings a gun to a wedding? Who would suspect that the wedding was a sham to get a man in jail?"

"Only you, of course. And a week, why a week?"

Sherlock got a little closer to her, knowing that seduction and flattery will get her on his side. He placed one hand on her hip and the other on her cheek.

"You know, Molly, you really are beautiful. And in a week's time, you'll look absolutely stunning. It's been planned for months and the criminal already knows about it so-"

"Oh you did not just do that," she took a step back and off him. "That's not fair; you can't try and flatter me to walk all over me. I can't believe you've been planning this for months and you didn't think to tell me about it or ask for my opinion."

Sherlock swore under his breath, of course she'd pick up what he was doing. Who's to say she didn't know of this trick for years?

"Molly, there is no-one else. It has to be you. You don't understand how important this is for me, for England, for the world. We need to do this, you need to say yes. And I'll give you a reward for going through with it." He winked at her and took her hands. "So what do you say? Will you do me the honour of becoming my pretend wife?"

Molly stood there, her hands in Sherlock's a frown on her face, a desperate look on his. Did she want to get fake married for the sake of a case?

~oOo~

Molly sat with her head in her hands, watching as Sherlock and Janine pretended to get married, a criminal as his Best Man.

"It's not fair," John grumbled from beside Molly. "We're best friends. I've never even heard of this Joshua person."

Molly motioned for him and Mary to lean in. "He's the criminal in question. Notice how ninety five precent of the guests are police officers or from the British Government? They all get a good chance to look at Joshua without seeming suspicious. His behaviour is being examined by everyone."

Mary smiled at Molly and looked around at all the guests. Yes, she could make out a gun in the jackets of all the male guests and the women had their handbags close to them for added security.

Mycroft Holmes had even made a visit, something that shocked Molly and John but didn't appear to faze Sherlock. He decided their parents had told Mycroft to go to the wedding or else. Mrs Holmes could get VERY scary when she was angry and Mr Holmes would shake his head at Mycroft from over Mrs Holmes' shoulder. He would not get in the way of his wife's wrath.

Greg, Mrs Hudson, John, Mary, their daughter and Molly all sat at the table with a purple tablecloth.

"This is ridiculous," Greg mumbled under his breath. "Why are we going through all of this?" He turned to Molly and frowned. "And why isn't this your wedding? I thought that was how it was planned?"

Molly rolled her eyes and told Greg the story, leaving out Sherlock's continuous manipulation. He didn't need to know how weak Sherlock made her. It was irrelevant and embarrassing.

~oOo~

Sherlock confronted Molly the next day.

"You know why that police officer was shot, Molly? Because you weren't the bride!" he barked as he strode into the morgue alone.

"E-excuse me?"

"You are NOT excused. It nearly fell apart at the last minute and it was your fault." He walked right up to her, standing above her and looking down, fury covering his face.

"I- I don't understand how this was my fault? You were the one who came up to me last minute ad demanded that I married you. I said no for obvious reasons, such as my mother would go crazy telling me I had to get married or that we looked perfect together or something."

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose with his index finger and his thumb. "Molly. There is a certain tension between Janine and I that we couldn't cover. You and I, however, could have pulled it off without looking ridiculous."

Molly frowned at this. "Wha-"

"Doesn't matter anyway. A man just got shot taking down an easy target because you ruined the plan."

Molly rolled her eyes and went back to dissecting the corpse. "Then make better plans that can't be ruined a week before hand by a woman you are rarely nice to."

"The woman I trust the most in the entire world let me down. You let me down, Molly. Thank goodness it wasn't a real wedding, then, and that you weren't my real bride. I'm sure you would have let me down anyway."

She paled as she mulled over his words.

"Get out. Get out of my morgue right now and do not come back until you have a legitimate apology that not only makes sense but also explains your actions in their entirety. Do not come back until you know why I am angry at you and until you understand what you have done so wrong. Don't even bother talking to me until then, Mr Holmes, or I will not give you access to the lab or to the morgue again. In fact, I'll have your name black listed and this time, it'll stay black listed."

Sherlock's jaw dropped a fraction as she lay down the rules and as she threatened him. Miss Molly Hooper was not so nice when she desired.

And she was in a mood, one that flattery would not get him around. It was time to go home and consider the options.

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys!**

**Tomorrow's prompt is "on one of their birthdays" and will be a follow on from this one.**

**First up, sorry for the late update today. I was working all day and didn't have a lot of time to write this. Probably will be the same for tomorrow, not sure.**

**I was very unhappy with Sherlock's confrontation. It didn't feel like it was him but I think I pulled it off ok…**

**Tomorrow will be a follow on because it ended a bit badly, I just didn't know where to go and didn't want to go overboard with this prompt when it no longer applied. Hopefully tomorrow will be better. Hint: Molly's birthday.**

**Alrighty-o. I think that's about it. Thank you so much for reading and thank you so much for the reviews! I love them so much, they make my day :)**

**Any ideas for tomorrow would be great! Send a review or PM me.**

**x**


	28. Day 27: On One of Their Birthdays

**A/N: Hey guys!**

**First of all, sorry that this chapter will also contain spoilers, just like yesterday's chapter.**

**Secondly, I'm sorry this chapter kind of sucks. As I got to about 1, 500 words I thought "oh. I don't really like this…" and I write this, still unsure of the end and what's gonna happen. I PROMISE this won't continue, I have a plan for tomorrows and this can't continue. Also, I'm a bit sick of this prompt and I wanna get it over with. I didn't really want to bring that over to this but I did. Dishonour.**

**One more thing: but in Day 24: Making Up, I mentioned that Sherlock gave them 100 pound note. Thank you to the guest who commented on this. I don't live in England and, as such, there will be errors. I only have a basic knowledge from BBC shows and I didn't do my research, I somewhat assumed and made an "educated guess" based on Australian currency. They do not have a 100 pound note and guest pointed that out to me. Thanks for that, I appreciate it :) I've checked out the money system thingo to understand a bit and I think I've got it… maybe. Not really.**

**Righty-o. Enjoy!**

* * *

It had been days,weeks, months, since Sherlock last spoke to Molly. Case after case after case, avoiding her like the plague, a task he found infuriatingly difficult. He had to send in backup to get into the morgue, i.e. a pregnant Mary Watson to the lab before he entered Bart's, a situation she was more than happy to put herself in.

Molly could feel her self-confidence rising day by day. Without Sherlock to critique her every action and appearance, she had people such as Mary and her friends at Bart's who contently reminded her of how beautiful she looked or how her hair looked so flawless, asking for hints and tricks. She began to put more effort into her appearance and she even scored a few extra dates. Five months without Sherlock Holmes did a wonder for her.

The day that Sherlock Holmes had re-arrived into her life, the self-confidence began to fall again, bit by bit. He, of course, wrinkled his nose at her hair, at her makeup, at her clothes. She felt herself shrinking back into her shell from the moment they laid eyes on each other.

It started with a stiff posture from both parties, a frown emitting from the duo. Her lips pressed together tightly and Sherlock let out a sigh.

"Molly," he greeted, nodding slightly in her direction as his eyes flitted over her.

It began with a crinkled nose and furrowed eyebrows. The self-confidence pixie skipped past, singing 'not today!'

"Sherlock," she said in a rather curt tone. "What do you want?" She looked over his shoulder to see John Watson walking into the morgue, a frown forming on his face as he saw Molly.

"Hello Molly. We didn't know you'd be here today. I wouldn't have brought Sherlock if I did, I promise."

She nodded and grabbed her notes, walking away from the two men who would eventually spread like a disease up to the lab.

With the notes on her desk, she turned on her computer, ready for another tiring, stressful day. No-one came in on Saturdays. It was empty at Bart's, not a soul other than herself, the blogger and the detective were in the area. If she screamed bloody murder, no-one would know other than the two boys of 221B.

An email alert went off on her computer and Molly clicked on the icon to reveal several emails.

_1._ _**From:**__ John Watson. __**Subject:**__ We're on our way, better get a move on._

_2. __**From:**__ Mike Stanford. __**Subject: **__Happy Birthday!_

_3. __**From: **__Mother. __**Subject: **__Happy Birthday, Molly._

_4. __**From: **__Mary Watson and co. __**Subject: **__Happy Birthday! Lunch?_

It seemed, based off the lack of phone calls and texts, the only people who had remembered her birthday were her mother, Mike Stanford and Mary (the 'co' part referring to the child). Happy days.

Sherlock Holmes, it appeared, was a bad luck charm for Miss Molly Hooper. On the days he was there, hardly anyone remembered her birthday and her self-esteem plummeted. On the days he wasn't, she felt like a princess and she had friends.

This was not fair.

Tears began to well in her eyes as she thought about how cruel and heartless Sherlock Holmes was. He didn't care about her, not really. It was after he "married" Janine, oh the harsh words he had said. She had let him down.

Or so he said.

One cannot simply say the ones Molly Hooper loves do not get left down by her. On the contrary, she saves the ones she loves and that is why Sherlock Holmes is not dead at the hands of James Moriarty. One criminal is not worth the heartache that would have gone with the false marriage. Her mother would have complained that she looked gorgeous and demand a real marriage. She'd be forced on dates, Sherlock would scoff at her, continue to call her unattractive and point out her flaws. She could never please Sherlock Holmes. Not really.

If he did not offer her an apology today and explain his actions, Molly was sure she'd leave this life behind and go somewhere- anywhere- other than London. She'd travel for a few months, find somewhere she loves and then pack up her life to go and live there. It was fool proof.

"Molly, I'm going to need the right thumb of Mr Sawyer. Stat," he demanded as he walked into the lab, his eyes on his phone.

"No."

He stopped mid stride and looked up at her. "What?"

"You heard me," she said, bitterness seeping into her tone. "No. You have failed to provide me with an apology, as my demands, and as such, you are to be blacklisted from the morgue and lab. Off you pop, better find another morgue to conduct your experiments," she explained and crossed her arms.

"Oh, Molly. You didn't actually mean that, did you?" he asked, frowning as he examined her. "Apparently so. And today is a special day! It's the-" he stopped to think. What was new about today? New haircut? No, that was three weeks ago. New clothes? No, old, as per all her clothes. What wasn't he getting?

"Right. Get out of my lab, get out of my morgue and get out of Bart's. I can guarantee you are not welcome in here again," she informed him before standing up and motioning to the door.

"B-but-"

"No, Sherlock. Out. Now."

"Why?" he suddenly challenged as she went to push him towards the door.

"Because you're an insensitive prat! You don't care about me at all and you shouldn't even be here! Get out now!" her eyes began to glimmer with tears, causing Sherlock to get to her eyelevel.

"What? What did I miss? What's happened? Do I need to get John?" Molly bit her lip, urging the tears to not fall.

"You missed my birthday. An apology would have been a nice present but, instead, you storm in here like you own the place. News flash! You don't!"

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed. "I couldn't have missed your birthday. That's not possible… it's only the- oh." Realisation crossed his face and Molly crossed her arms, looking down at his feet.

"Please, just leave. You can work in the morgue for now but just don't come into the lab today."

With defeat in his eyes, Sherlock turned around and left, walking out of Bart's with John running to catch up. It reminded several bystanders of _The Hobbit_…

* * *

Molly refused to see her friends for the rest of the day. She left work shortly after Sherlock and returned to her flat to nurse a bottle of wine, something she only did after a stressful Sherlock-filled day like today. She hadn't drunk for months and it appeared she was missing the taste.

~oOo~

She was watching the latest episode of _Glee _with Toby, curled by her side, who had been watching the wine bottles throughout the night and was somewhat disappointed in his human for consuming so much so quickly.

'_That tall, mean man with the curly hair that's rude to my owner. He must be back,' _he decided before closing his eyes and beginning to sleep.

There was a knock on the door, disturbing him from the few moments he had to sleep. He growled a bit and followed his human to the door. It was 6:30pm. Who on earth would come to see his human?

It was a tall man with a box in his hands.

"I have your pizza. That'll be seven pounds," the man- no- boy said in his awkward voice, rocking a little on his heels.

"I didn't order a pizza," his human told the awkward teenager.

"I'm sorry, you have to pay for this pizza," he replied, causing Toby to growl.

How dare he?

With a sigh, Toby's human gave in. "Alright, here you go."

The door closed as Toby retreated to the couch, losing all interest in the situation at hand. He sat in his favourite spot and purred as he curled up in a ball. It was only a female gasp that bought him back to the real world. He looked at what she was gawping at. The pizza?

Written on the box was: _Molly Hooper, I hope you had a very nice day, ignoring my visit. I'm very sorry for what happened and I want to- _the hand writing changed to a more spaced out style. _What's he's staying is that he's really sorry about what happened all those months ago and also today. We both hope you had a great day._ Once more, it changed to the swirly writing. _Ignore John, he's getting all sentimental and barky here. I'll be seeing you again very soon. How was my teenager impersonation?_

_-SH and JW, even though he's not REALLY involved here._

Toby had no idea what that meant or who SH and JW were, let alone what they were apologising for. Actually, he didn't care; he was just tired and hungry.

~oOo~

Molly did NOT want to leave her flat again for weeks. She really didn't want anything to do with Sherlock. But she had a shift tomorrow afternoon and she knew she would be forced to see him; he'd turn up.

* * *

Sherlock paced around 221B, feeling incredibly foolish. "How could I forget it was her birthday?" he wondered aloud.

"Maybe because you're, in Molly's words, an insensitive prat," John interjected while typing up a case.

"How can I apologise for that? And that thing with the wedding. I don't know what she was mad at… perhaps it was because I said I was thankful we didn't get married because she'd let me down…" John's jaw dropped as he looked up at Sherlock. The detective looked over at John and rolled his eyes "Jawn."

The blogger closed his mouth, knowing full well that "Jawn" was code for him to lift his jaw from the ground and to "stop being such a peasant", an insult Sherlock apparently learnt from the internet a while ago.

John was speechless, however. He had told one of the few people he trusts that she would let him down and forgot her birthday. How could he _possibly_ make up for that?!

~oOo~

This is a ridiculous idea," John declared as Sherlock approached Molly's flat dressed as an adolescent boy delivering an apology pizza.

"It's not ridiculous. _YOU'RE _ridiculous," Sherlock rolled his eyes and motioned John to move away as he started phase one.

* * *

Phase two began with the duo walking up and down streets of homes around England. Yes, Sherlock had demanded that they went out and, with every florist in London closed, they were to pick their own bouquet for Molly.

Hours and hours passed as they walked around, picking a random flower every 20 minutes or so. Finally, they managed to have a big bunch of flowers.

Sherlock zoned out on the journey home while John walked around trying to find a bus or a taxi that could get them to London at midnight.

~oOo~

At half one in the morning, Molly was awoken by Toby attempting to suffocate her. Knowing Toby, he wanted to go out.

"Stupid cat, I was sleeping," she grumbled, ignoring the headache and stretching out of bed.

She opened the door as a taxi downstairs drove off. She looked down at her feet to see Toby sniffing an unidentified object. She picked it up and gasped as she saw a beautiful bunch of flowers and a note attached to a yellow ribbon wrapped tightly around them.

_I'm very sorry, Molly Hooper._

_Please forgive me._

_-SH._

* * *

Phase three involved John sulking to bed and Sherlock studying in his mind palace. The next event for Molly Hooper was breakfast, so it was to be arranged. He would get Mrs Hudson to make bacon and eggs with mushrooms, tomato, etc. and take it over to Molly first thing along with a thermos of hot chocolate. When she could be bothered, Mrs Hudson made the best hot chocolates in all of London.

Now, how was he going to bribe Mrs Hudson?

~oOo~

As per usual, Molly woke up later than she had hoped and, as such, was forced to miss breakfast again. Once she was dressed in her usual clothes (that had considerably improved while avoiding Sherlock), she grabbed her bag and left the flat. As she opened the door, something shiny caught her eye.

Exactly where the flowers had been was a plate full of breakfast with plastic wrap over it and a thermo beside it. Sitting on the breakfast plate was "sorry I forgot your birthday and sorry you didn't get breakfast in bed. At least you can have breakfast when you get to work? –SH ps: cab waiting for you."

A smile slid onto Molly's face as she grabbed the presents and rushed down to the cab. Today was going to be great!

* * *

With phase three going off without a hitch, phase four was in full effect. Today, he was going to get her a birthday present and present it to her when she went to lunch.

But this lunch wasn't any ordinary lunch. He'd planned it perfectly and hired people to make it work.

"Present!" he suddenly snapped and John rolled his eyes turning a page.

"Having war flashbacks of your time at school, Sherlock?" he asked as he turned the page of the newspaper.

"Actually, I realised I have to get Molly a birthday present and you're going to help me."

John gave Sherlock an unimpressed look.

"You're kidding yourself if you think I'm getting involved in phase 3 of your apologies."

"No, phase four. Phase three was breakfast and that worked stunningly well. Now, let's get her a present and get the homeless network onto it.

~oOo~

Molly ate at work quickly before attending to the post-mortems she had to perform. For once in his life, Sherlock Holmes was not being a rude and arrogant arse, but actually a human being, something that rather suited him.

By the time lunch came by, Molly wasn't particularly hungry but decided to get a drink out. She enjoyed walking in London and watching the beauty.

Down the street of her usual coffee shops, people stopped eating to give her odd looks. Feeling self-conscious, she rushed onwards, trying to see if she could get a different reaction elsewhere. Not only did she get a reaction, the reaction was much worse.

People began to stare, point talk to each other in hushed tones with eyes that did not leave Molly. She walked faster and faster until she bumped into someone.

"I'm so sorry," she said and looked away from the bystanders to see Sherlock Holmes looking down at her.

"Not a problem. You're actually the person I was waiting for. I hope my people weren't too… right, well, in you come," he said and ushered her into a restaurant, hardly what she was dressed for.

"I just wanted a drink," she told him, hoping to make an escape.

"Yes, well, you can't. This is your official birthday lunch with me," he replied and motioned for her to sit down.

She did so without comment and he followed suit.

"Birthday lunch?"

"Of course. I was a bit of a prat yesterday and I'm going to make it up to you with a present of a lunch aaaand, a present itself." He pulled a small package from his pocket and slid it towards her.

* * *

Phase four went surprisingly smoothly and she loved the ring. It was a gold band with the words "I trust you until the end of time" engraved on the inside. It was amazing what the British Government could pull off in a few hours.

It was time to pull out the big guns and finish with phase five.

~oOo~

Sherlock arrived at the morgue that afternoon, just as Molly was about to leave.

"Hold up!" he yelled out as she went to lock the door.

"Sherlock, I'm about to go," she told him, uncertainty creeping into her voice.

"Nope."

He opened the door and ushered her in before closing it behind him.

"What's-"

"Molly Hooper, I need two minutes of silence from you, ok?" she nodded at his request. "Wonderful. Now, I want you to forgive me for what I said. If you haven't been paying attention to me at all today, you mean so much to me and I need you. On top of that, I trust you forever, you could never let me down because you always do your best and that's all I could ever ask of you." Molly looked a little taken back and nodded a little bit. Sherlock cupper her face in his hands and smiled down on her. It was a gentle smile, not his psychopath smile but his genuine smile. "Molly Hooper, you are the most trustworthy and amazing woman I have ever met. Whoever has the pleasure of marrying you will not only be the luckiest person in the entire world but will be married to the most trustworthy person I know. You could never let me down as long as you're happy or you give it your best." As fast as it had come, the smile and warmth was gone, as was his hands from her face. "Right. That's enough sentiment for one day."

Molly smiled at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Thank you so much, Sherlock. Really," she whispered to his confusion.

"Er, yes. Ok. No problem." He returned the hug awkwardly and attempted several times to escape her hold.

"I forgive you. Just don't do it again."

He rolled his eyes and smirked. Of course it was the seduction and sentiment that won her over in the end.

"Oh, Miss Hooper," he muttered. "I would never do that to you again."

* * *

**A/N:**

**Tomorrow's prompt: Something Ridiculous.**


	29. Day 28: Something Ridiculous

"Shh, Molly, don't move a muscle," Sherlock whispered as he moved the scissors to the left side of her face.

"SHERLOCK, ARE YOU CUTTING MY HAIR?!"

**~6 HOURS EARLIER~**

This was the last straw. Sherlock had attempted to come home at midnight that night.

Sherlock had attempted to come home at midnight that night _high_.

High as all hell. He was acting like a two year old, something Mycroft warned John about during one of their meetings about Sherlock.

"Oh, Sherlock! You're not coming into any of my flat's acting like that!" Mrs Hudson cried out, alerting John that something was wrong.

He jumped down the stairs to see the detective standing in the doorway with Mrs Hudson staring at him with shock.

"Sherlock, Mrs Hudson, what's going on?" he asked while rubbing his eyes, trying to see clearly after being awoken.

Mrs Hudson turned to look at John and her usual calm and placid demeanour melting away to show a woman who was furious. Sherlock had unleashed the wrath of Mrs Hudson, something John never wanted to experience.

"What's going on?! He's bloody high!"

"Mrs Hudson," Sherlock whined earning a clip around the ear. "Hey! What was that for?!"

"For being a brat, Sherlock! You're not coming in here while you're high and you are not going to speak in a whiney tone!"

John felt immense pride for Mrs Hudson. It was about time that someone did something about Sherlock.

"As soon as your clean, get back here or I'll hunt you down," John informed Sherlock before turning around and going back to bed, leaving Mrs Hudson to it.

Once the door slammed shut downstairs, both Mrs Hudson and John lay in their beds and thought about Sherlock. How dare he try to come back here high, especially when the police make their surprise visits claiming it to be a drugs bust?

~oOo~

Sherlock wandered around pointlessly through London. Where was he supposed to go? He didn't have any friends other than Mrs Hudson and John. Gavin was a detective inspector and probably wouldn't let a drugged up Sherlock into his place. There was also no way Sherlock would go anywhere near Mycroft either. He was stuck on the streets until the drugs were out of his system and yet, he didn't have anywhere to do that.

He supposed he could "hang out" with the homeless network (or the Holmes-less Network, as he referred to it in his mind palace) but Sherlock wasn't really "in" the homeless network and didn't really want to either. Those people would do anything for money, he knew that, and if he turned up drugged up, they'd talk to the media and get something for that…

One name suddenly sprang to mind, one that actually counted (unlike Mycroft *rolls eyes*) and that was Miss Molly Hooper, the meek pathologist who happened to live about ten minutes away from 221B. Judging from where Sherlock was now- where was he?

Frantically, he looked around, trying to get a name of a street or a suburb. Nothing was visible, to his immense disappointment. He was a bit "ergh" about getting in a cab alone, especially at night, but this night, he would have to make an exception.

~oOo~

Like every day at 1:30am, Molly was asleep with Toby curled by her side. The usually deep sleeper was at a key time in her sleep cycle to be awoken, specifically by the pounding of her doorbell.

Groaning out of bed, Molly shuffled to the door, making remarks such as "yeah I hear you, calm down" while she walked over. She opened the door and looked at the person who had interrupted her. Her eyebrows were furrowed, she had slight bags under her eyes and her lips were curled down.

"Good morning, Molly," the perky Sherlock said, attempting to step around her. She stood with one hand on the inside door handle and the other on her hip.

"Hey." She raised the hand on her hip to the door frame, forcing him to stay outside while she analysed him. "What are you doing here?"

He shuffled on his feet, knowing what happened last time they spoke while he was high. Three very painful slaps, to be precise.

"Mrs Hudson kicked me out for the night, or two, I don't know…"

Molly narrowed her eyes. Something suspicious was going on and she didn't like it.

"Why?"

He avoided eye contact as he said "I may or may not have taken drugs and am high…"

Molly closed her eyes while exhaling, her grip on the door handle increasing. "Are you kidding me?" she asked, her patience running thin.

"Unfortunately not. May I please "crash" here tonight?" he asked her and she opened her eyes, beginning to shake her head. "I rather like your pyjamas, they look more… you. I mean, it's more comfortable and comforting, the colours are warm and the whole ensemble is just so…" he smiled a little as he took in her appearance. _'Needs to cut her hair, though,' _he thought.

Molly rolled her eyes and moved her hand from the door frame. "Get in before I change my mind."

Sherlock smiled wider and entered the flat, ignoring the pink and femininity proclaimed here that never transferred to the woman herself. He was shocked the pyjamas compliment worked but decided to blame her lack of coherent thinking to tiredness.

With a blanket and pillow thrown on the couch for Sherlock, Molly returned to bed and pulled Toby up towards her. But a pillow and blanket would not suffice Sherlock's needs. He boiled the kettle and made some coffee which was accompanied with a sandwich or two or three. Finally, he scavenged around her kitchen for more food and came across the scissors. After commandeering her computer and wifi, he began to look up hair styling tutorials on YouTube as well as Googling hairstyles that would suit Molly.

By the time 6 am arrived, he was sure he could cut and style Molly's hair, ready for work that day. Oh how she'd thank him and let him stay until the drugs were out of his system. With the scissors in hand, he snuck into her room and hovered over her small body.

"S-Sherlock?" she muttered as he cut a few bits of her hair around her face.

"Shh, Molly, don't move a muscle," Sherlock whispered as he moved the scissors to the left side of her face.

"SHERLOCK, ARE YOU CUTTING MY HAIR?!" she screeched at him.

"Not exactly the thank you I was after but yes, I am. Don't worry, I've been looking at hair tutorials for a few hours and I'm pretty much an expert now," he told her while trying to measure out a few inches of her hair.

"GET AWAY FROM MY HAIR YOU SOCIOPATH!" she yelled again and rolled away.

_Snip._

"Ooh. Molly. I suggest you don't look in the mirror for a few months," he said after a moment of silence.

Half her hair had been cut off because she moved while Sherlock attempted to cut it.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Tomorrow's prompt is "Doing Something Sweet" and is the second last prompt for this challenge.**


	30. Day 29: Doing Something Sweet

Each year a specific day comes around where every heart either flutters with excitement or sinks in disappointment. Like many years before, Molly was expecting it to sink in disappointment as not only did no-one notice her, but Sherlock Holmes would make a little comment on it.

Yes, it was Valentine's Day and Molly was expecting nothing but heartache as Sherlock pranced around her lab or morgue and made small comments such as "roses are red, violets are blue, the day's full of love, for all except you." Alternatively, other than mocking poems, he'd say "I see, Molly, that you've been eagerly awaiting a Valentine's card or something. I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you…"

John, for the last few years, scolded him and told him not to be cruel to Molly. Oh course, Sherlock would roll his eyes and mutter "someone needed to say it" before ignoring the hurt Molly and continue to prance around the room.

(If you _had _told Sherlock he pranced around Bart's, which Molly had done accidently one day, he would shoot you an icy glare and tell you that "Sherlock Holmes does not prance, let alone in a hospital". He'd proceed to tell you to "grow up" and that maybe if you did, "you wouldn't be alone. Wouldn't that be an improvement" before he stalked away from your company and shot you daggers from the other side of the room for the rest of the day.)

Molly was anticipating a different outcome for Valentine's this year. She had prepared herself for what she was going to say when Sherlock made an arrival. At midday, Sherlock and his coat billowed into the morgue and greeted Molly with a usual dip of his head before he pranced up to the morgue. John came running after Sherlock and had said "morning, Molly" before chasing after the detective.

Molly had decided to get into a bit of the Valentine's Day spirit and had some flowers on her desk. Sherlock had noticed it and rolled his eyes before muttering "all by myself". John shot him an unimpressed look that Sherlock, like per usual, didn't particularly comprehend.

With two cups of coffee in her hands, one for Sherlock and one for John, she entered the lab and placed the cups beside them.

"Molly, I see today has treated you as Valentine's Day usually does."

Sherlock had a small smirk on his face and Molly shrugged and shook her head.

"No, actually, this year I've taken my own stand against how sexist this day can be for some people and I've decided to do my own thing. So, I'm going to ask him out on my own terms. Or, you know, do I have to wait for someone to ask me? Is that what you imply every year?" she asked and walked past him to her desk.

"Oh Molly, could you really bring yourself to talk to someone and ask them to… coffee or dinner?" he suppressed a scoff as he leaned back down to look in the microscope.

"I have before," she muttered as she sank down into her chair.

"Sherlock," John warned as watched Molly's reaction.

"John," Sherlock mocked as he switched slides.

Molly began to work on her paperwork while the boys experimented.

"So, John, do women ask you out or do you have to ask them out? And what would you rather she asked you out or you did?" Sherlock asked and Molly blushed. John's jaw dropped as he looked over at Molly. "Jawn," Sherlock reminded and John shut his mouth.

After a few moments of silence, John replied with "Sherlock, don't be such a prat. Molly is a perfectly capable adult and she can do whatever she pleases with whomever she desires. If she wants to ask out a man, there is no shame in that," John replied and Molly smiled s little bit at him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and switched slides.

"Right. John, I've got it. Let's go," Sherlock said blankly before standing up and stalking out of Bart's.

John gave her an apologetic smile before rushing out after his friend. Molly knew that they were going to see Greg and so her plan was now in action.

~oOo~

Molly was really happy with what she had organised. She was sure that he'd like it and hoped that perhaps an apology would follow. She had high hopes for what would follow; Sherlock couldn't possibly be cruel enough to mock her about it. She was beginning to think that she was getting over Sherlock, after all, she had been so confident today at Bart's when he was there. Perhaps this V-Day would be the last one where she would be in love with Sherlock Holmes.

~oOo~

Sherlock arrived at home that night and entered his room, grumbling to John about a boring and weak case, as per usual. As soon as the door opened, he froze. Something was wrong, really wrong.

On his bed was a box of chocolate and a piece of pink paper.

_Sherlock,_

_My apologies for not being the usual stutter-y self,_

_I didn't feel that I had to portray my usual, stereotypical self to you._

_Actually, I would like an apology for all the years of Valentine's Day teasing._

_Yes, I have taken offense to each and every remark._

_I think the cruellest of them all was walking in with a big bouquet of flowers and handing them to John while asking me if anyone has offered to be my Valentine. What hurt the most was the smirk and look at John when I replied with a blush and teary eyes._

_So, instead of asking you to dinner, I thought I'd do something sweet and give you a box of chocolate._

_I hope it's sweeter than you._

_Molly._

_x_

Sherlock frowned as he read it. He didn't realise how no-one else suppressed their emotions and how little comments could affect someone. He started to think that maybe Molly was right and maybe he should apologies to he-

Oh, not with THOSE chocolates! They were the most disgusting thing Sherlock had ever tasted!

"John, want some chocolate?" Sherlock called out.

~oOo~

The next morning while John was at work, Sherlock went to the morgue to see Molly. She was working on an autopsy when he walked in.

"Sherlock? Greg didn't tell me you were coming i-" Sherlock cut her off as he pressed his lips to hers.

"I'm sorry," he told her, not entirely meaning it, but deciding it was the best thing to do.

* * *

**A/N: hey guys!**

**Tomorrow's prompt: "Doing something hot" and it's the last day!**

**I'm sorry about today's prompt. I don't think I particularly like this one but I felt pressured to post it ASAP and not wait. Also, I don't know how I'd make it better…**

**I might try and do some oneshots so if you have any prompts you'd like me to do, PM me or put it as a review on any chapter, just make sure you tell me it's a prompt. I'll "dedicate" the one-shot to you.**

**See you tomorrow for the last prompt!**


	31. Day 30: Doing Something Hot

**A/N: Hey guys!**

**As we embark on the final chapter of the 30 day challenge, 'something hot', I'd like to say a few things to you before it all goes down.**

**First of all, I'd like to thank each and every one of you for reading this! I want to thank you for all the wonderful reviews and all the favourites and follows! I've loved getting on each day and posting the next part, knowing that you're all enjoying this so much!**

**Unfortunately, we've come to an end. This is day 30 and the last in the 30 day challenge. I have had an absolute blast writing this and posting it for you! I haven't written fan fiction in ages and it was great to come back with such wonderful readers and such beautiful supporters! Just by reading each day and/or reading my author notes, you've become a great and fantastic supporter!**

**I don't know how much of a chance I'll have to write during the school year, because my parents turn of the Wi-Fi during the school term, but I'll try and see how it goes and if I can write some more. I'll write and do a big massive spam of fan fiction, so that should be fun. As I said at the end of yesterday's prompt thing, I'll do some one-shots so please feel free to PM me prompts or to put it in the review; be sure to mention it's a prompt. I'll "dedicate" the chapter to you, even if you're a guest.**

**Now, with Sherlock back on hiatus (again after, like, three weeks), you can bet my Sherlolly fan fictions will include the events of season 3. If you're an Australian fan, like myself, and haven't seen yet, Sherlock is coming next Wednesday on Nine/Win or whatever they call it. I'll finally be able to watch it legally.**

**I really cannot stress how much I appreciate you all. My mood has definitely increased so much and I absolutely love seeing how many reads and reviews I have! I've had three months of holidays this time and I had an absolutely fantastic January, thanks to you!**

**Many kisses to you all! Xxx**

* * *

**NO SMUT- Pre- RBF.**

* * *

_I think you'll find that Molly is missing two things: her flat and cat.  
__I suggest you find the cat if you want to ever see your beloved Molly alive again.  
–M x_

Sherlock paled as he read the text message. "John!" he called out from his bedroom. "JOHN!"

The doctor ran into the room as fast as possible and looked around for any immediate threat. "What?! What's wrong?!" he yelled back, looking around the room frantically.

"Moriarty. He's got Molly," Sherlock replied as he held the phone out for John to read.

"Shit. What do we do? Where do we go?" Sherlock shook his head as he walked out of the room.

"I'm not sure… I think the flat first; see if we can't find any clues. The flat was mentioned in the text so I think it'll have something to do with it."

The detective and the blogger left 221B and got a cab to Molly's apartment. When they arrived, Sherlock was shocked to see the flat on fire. He looked down at his watch; eleven thirty five. They were all at work, no-one had to leave the building.

"Sherlock, what the hell is going on?" John asked, staring at the fire, not being able to tear his eyes off it.

"They burnt it because there was too much evidence, I suppose. There has to be a clue outside…" Sherlock left John to stare at the catastrophe while he looked at the ground for any footprints made by cat, man or woman.

After few moments of looking, he poked John in the ribs. "Ouch! Sherlock! What was that for?" he asked, looking down at his detective who was crouched on the ground, studying mud. _Oh, of course_, John thought bitterly.

"Footprints. The mud is dry, it hasn't rained here since last night and it has been a little warm lately… I think that's the kidnapper of Toby and he'll take us to Molly. We've got to see all the cabs with mud in the car.

"Oh, yes, of course we have to investigate each and every cab. You're Sherlock Holmes, somehow I forgot," John groaned and followed after Sherlock like the little puppy he is on occasion.

~oOo~

After hours of looking at each and every cab, Sherlock had finally settled on the one the kidnapper went in. The mud was partially dry and the driver confirmed that a man had gotten in the car that morning from in front of Molly's building. After a few threats, the man obliged to driving them to where the man had gone with the cat.

The warehouse they pulled up at had John give Sherlock a few nervous glances. They were in an isolated area and John was sure no-one would come to their rescue if anyone screamed. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to be here but they had to save Molly.

"Thank you," Sherlock said and handed the man double the money he owed before he and John climbed out of the cab.

"What are we doing? Are we storming in, guns blazing, or do we have an actual plan?" John asked his friend who seemed to be deducing what he could about the building.

"I called Lestrade; he'll be here in his own time. For now, we go in and get that cat and Molly." Sherlock looked down at John and gave him a reassuring smile, one John was unable to return.

They walked towards the warehouse, Sherlock much more confident that John. He was the one to open the door and he led John in.

A man sat in the middle of the deserted building in a wooden chair, a cat cage in his hands. John and Sherlock exchanged an uneasy look and began to walk towards him.

"I believe you have something we want back," Sherlock told the man who looked like he was going to cry. He couldn't approach him, there was something wrong. John, however, didn't get the memo and Sherlock reached out to grab his arm.

Noticing the action, John retreated to stand by his friend who was, as John politely put it, deducing the living daylights out of the man.

"Hello Sherlock. We finally meet again. You look great, by the way. And I have your beloved cat. Oh, yes, and that Molly Hooper. She's not going too well. Anyway, come to me and take the cat. Time is ticking," the man told Sherlock who ran towards him and took the cat cage containing one Toby.

He retreated to John and they looked around confused.

"That was too easy," the blogger said and Sherlock nodded while crinkling his nose. He knew, however, that a smell of gasoline was not just lingering in the air.

A red spot appeared on the chest of the man sitting in the chair and as quickly as it came, a bullet was fired. John and Sherlock stood in shock, Sherlock not thinking that would happen. The next bit was even more shocking. From up in the rafters, a burning paper fell and landed on the man's head, setting a fireball off.

"RUN!" Sherlock yelled and John followed the detective who was getting out of there.

"Shit," John cursed as they stepped to the road. "We don't even know where Molly is."

"You're wrong. There was a tattoo on his arm of coordinates. And now, we're going to find Molly."

The detective and his blogger waited as the police turned up, Lestrade leading it.

"Sherlock! What've we got?"

"Man inside is dead and burning. There was a sniper and a man in the rafters. We've got to go." Sherlock tugged on John's sleeve and pulled him away.

* * *

Molly Hooper was stuck. She was in a basement tied to a chair with explosives placed around her. She was told that if by six Sherlock and John hadn't come for her, she was going to die. At six, the explosives were all going to go off. There was a clock on the wall, the only light in the room. The bright numbers told her it was now quarter to six.

She knew better, however. The clock had been changed, it wasn't quarter to six. It could be any time. At true six, the explosives would go off and one minute before six, the alarm would start, telling her she had one minute left to live.

This was not how she thought she'd die. She had always thought she would marry and have kids and die old with her husband. Instead, she was dying in her early 30's, alone and at the hands of an old boyfriend. She wished and hoped and prayed that Sherlock Holmes and John Watson would arrive soon, she hoped she'd be saved.

She looked up at the clock to see it was now 5:47pm. When the number flicked over, an alarm began to go off. The tears that had welled in her eyes began to flow. Sherlock couldn't get there in time and she was going to die. The clock turned off but the noise continued to ring.

No-one is an attractive crier; Molly was no exception to this rule. She sat there, bawling her eyes out as the alarm rang. All time stopped as she cried, she was not going to live to see another day and she was not going to see Sherlock.

Sherlock. She wondered if he even cared, if he even looked for her. Her question was answered approximately three seconds later. The door behind her broke and a light turned on. Molly closed her eyes at the brightness of it. Sherlock ran in, John on his tail, straight to Molly.

He cut her from the chair and carried her back out, John keeping an eye out for anything or anyone. As they reached the door, Sherlock brought Molly closer to his chest and ran faster.

_**BOOM!**_

The room behind them went up in flames and Molly was left in Sherlock's arms, sobbing into his chest at how close she had come to death. She had been stuck in that room for about 24 hours by the time Sherlock saved her.

"Molly, it's ok, you're safe," he told her and began to wipe her tears away with a tissue previously stashed in his coat pocket.

She opened her eyes and blinked a few times as she adjusted to the light. Sherlock held her a few feet away from the basement door, the light from the fire illuminating through Sherlock's curls. She could feel the intense heat coming from the room… or perhaps it was Sherlock's body heat. She wasn't sure and at that moment, she didn't care.

"Thank you, Sherlock. Thank you so much," she croaked out, her throat saw from the previous screams for help and from sobbing viciously.

Sherlock placed her back on her two feet and placed his hands on her waist for support. "I would never let you down and I would never let you go," he told her.

She leaned forwards and pressed her lips to his. As she went to move away, Sherlock moved forwards and captured her lips with her own.

**~The End~**


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